lEx  Etbrts 


SEYMOUR  DURST 


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iFrontfsjjtece. 


She  was  sitting  beside  the  railing  of  the  fence  of  the  Brick  Church, 
on  the  corner  of  Park  Row  and  Beekman  Street.      p.  12. 


OR, 

THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


AMERICAN  SUNDAY-SCHOOL  UNION, 

No.  316  CHESTNUT  STREET. 

NEW  YORK:  No.  147  NASSAU  ST. 

BOSTON:  No.  9  CORN  HILL  CINCINNATI:  41  WEST  FOURTH  ST. 

LOUISVILLE:  No.  103  FOURTH  ST. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1855,  by  the 
AMERICAN  SUNDAY-SCHOOL  UNION, 
in  the  ClerVs  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  Eastern  District  of 
Pennsylvania. 


$9"  No  boohs  are  published  by  the  American  Sunday-School  Union 
tvithout  the  sanction  of  the  Committee  of  Publication,  consisting  of  four- 
teen members,  from  the  following  denominations  of  Christians,  viz.  Bap- 
tist, Methodist,  Congregational,  Episcopal,  Presbyterian,  Lutheran,  and 
Reformed  Dutch.  Not  more  than  three  of  the  members  can  be  of  the  same 
denomination,  and  no  book  can  be  published  to  which  any  member  of  the 
Committee  shall  object. 


PREFACE. 


The  luxuries,  temptations,  and  crimes  of 
great  cities  are  so  obvious  as  to  have  become 
proverbial ;  so  that,  perhaps,  we  are  in  danger 
of  overlooking  God's  work  in  1  the  same.  If 
Rome  was,  according  to  a  famous  saying,  a 
"sink  of  iniquity,"  and  Corinth  was  but  an- 
other name  for  a  home  of  voluptuousness,  these 
same  points  were  nevertheless  radiating  centres 
of  the  gospel. 

The  newspapers,  catering  for  a  depraved 
hankering  after  the  details  of  flagitious  deeds, 
keep  the  country  duly  informed  of  all  the  igno- 
rance, superstition,  drunkenness,  mendicity, 
starvation,  theft,  violence,  and  destruction  of 
the  town,  till,  perhaps,  the  country  is  ready  to 

forget  that  Christ  has  a  people,  and  that  the 

l*  5 


6 


PREFACE. 


Holy  Spirit  is  doing  wonders  of  grace  within 
these  same  limits. 

The  truth  is,  wherever  God's  people  are 
found  adjacent  to  masses  of  evil,  they  are  seen 
to  operate  mightily  on  these  masses.  When 
the  enemy  comes  in  most  like  a  flood,  the  Lord 
lifts  a  standard  most  on  high.  The  more 
iniquity  becomes  rampant,  the  more  does  holy 
love  contend  against  it.  Such  should  seem  to 
be  the  order  of  divine  administration,  in  all 
cases  short  of  utter  rejection,  or  those  in 
which  the  Lord  sends  Lot  out  of  the  Sodom 
which  no  longer  contains  its  ten  righteous. 
Hence,  the  diligence,  the  skill,  the  self-denial, 
and  the  liberality  of  true  Christians  in  cities 
and  great  towns  have  been  remarkable  in  every 
age.  For  the  exercise  of  these  graces  there 
is,  alas !  too  much  requisition ;  and  the  utmost 
endeavours  of  an  army  of  earnest  workers  can- 
not as  yet  counterwork  the  busy  sons  of 
Belial. 

It  is  a  most  cheering  consideration  that  there 
is  no  evangelical  church  in  our  cities  and  great 


PREFACE. 


7 


towns  which  does  not  comprise  a  goodly  num- 
ber of  beneficent  persons,  who  spend  a  portion 
of  their  time  in  works  of  mercy ;  in  visiting 
the  fatherless  and  the  widows,  and  what  the 
Bible  calls  strangers — that  is,  foreigners ;  in 
relieving  the  sick,  the  aged,  and  the  prisoner  ; 
in  gathering  and  teaching  the  ignorant ;  in  dis- 
pensing good  books ;  and  in  kindred  endeavours 
to  glorify  God  by  lessening  sin  and  woe. 
There  are  not  a  few  city  disciples  who  devote 
their  whole  available  time  to  such  labours. 

Public  attention  has,  for  a  few  years,  been 
specially  directed  to  the  vagrant  youth  of  our 
streets.  From  among  these,  many  have  already 
been  rescued  and  placed  in  the  way  of  im- 
provement, under  kind  and  religious  guardians. 
The  pages  which  follow  relate  such  a  case,  not 
in  the  shape  of  ingenious  fiction,  but  in  the  un- 
varnished record  of  literal  truth. 

The  name  of  Maria  Cheeseman  has  for  a 
number  of  months  been  familiar  to  the  church 
which  I  serve  ;  and  many  of  our  brethren  have 
been  witnesses  of  the  events  to  be  related  in 


8 


PREFACE. 


the  following  pages,  and  have  traced  them,  step 
by  step,  to  the  happy  conclusion.  Although 
the  names  of  the  good  Samaritans  "who  found 
this  suffering  one  by  the  wayside  are  covered 
in  the  narrative  by  a  slight  veil,  they  will  be 
recognised  by  hundreds  of  readers,  and  will 
thus  add  authority  to  the  evidence.  The  story, 
as  it  now  appears,  was  prepared  by  a  gentleman 
of  the  bar,  who  is  at  the  same  time  a  valued 
member  of  the  church  under  my  pastoral  care. 
The  text  of  the  publication  will  itself  evince 
the  diligence  and  Christian  love  with  which  he 
has  performed  his  task ;  it  only  remains  for  us 
who  stood  by  and  beheld  the  providential 
development  to  attest  the  truth  of  the  nar- 
rative. 

If  the  very  remarkable  series  of  incidents 
here  set  forth  should  secure  as  warm  an  inte- 
rest in  the  reading  public  as  it  has  already 
awTakened  in  those  who  have  seen  and  heard  it, 
the  result  will  be  important  in  several  respects. 
The  marvellous  wrays  of  the  God  of  providence 
will  seem  manifestly  the  same  in  our  modern 


PREFACE.  9 


nme  as  in  the  days  of  old;  and  thoughtful 
believers  will  remember  the  youth  of  Joseph 
and  of  Daniel.  The  blessed  work  of  Sunday- 
schools  will  shine  more  brightly  in  the  eyes  of 
the  church.  In  particular,  the  u  merciful  man" 
will  be  led  to  go  out  into  the  thoroughfares 
with  fresh  hope  of  snatching  children  and  youth 
from  the  destruction  which  this  moment  threat- 
ens tens  of  thousands. 

In  conclusion,  it  must  be  permitted  me  to 
say,  that  if  there  are  in  the  church  on  earth 
any  servants  of  God  who  deserve  our  affection- 
ate respect,  our  intercessory  prayers,  our  aid, 
and  our  imitation,  it  is  those  who,  as  Sunday- 
school  teachers,  missionaries,  and  visitors,  ad- 
dress themselves  to  the  unpaid,  wTearisome,  and, 
in  certain  respects,  disgusting  and  thankless 
work  of  daily  converse  with  ignorance,  pauper- 
ism, and  vice.  Go  on,  honoured  and  beloved 
brethren  and  sisters  in  Christ !  Be  not  weary 
in  well-doing !  Walk  thus  in  the  Master's 
steps ! 

J.  W.  A. 


MARIA  CHEESEMAN. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  FIRST  INTERVIEW. 

The  first  day  of  the  year  eighteen  hun- 
dred and  fifty-four  was  Sunday.  It  was 
clear  and  cold — one  of  the  coldest  days 
of  that  year.  The  streets  of  the  city 
were  almost  deserted,  and  the  few  that 
were  about  were  well  guarded  against  the 
biting  frost.  Here  and  there  a  "  newsboy" 
was  seen  braving  the  keen  air  and  crying 
his  papers,  while  his  teeth  chattered,  and 
every  gust  of  wind  seemed  to  pass  through 
and  through  him.  Here  and  there,  too,  a 
shivering  woman  or  a  half-frozen  child 
might  be  seen  at  the  corners,  with  apples 
and  candy  to  sell.  But  with  these  excep- 
tions, the  current  of  life,  flowing  back  and 
forth  through  the  streets  of  the  great  metro- 
polis, seemed  for  the  time  congealed. 

11 


12 


MARIA  CHEESEMAN;  OR, 


On  the  morning  of  this  day,  a  girl,  ap- 
parently about  twelve  or  thirteen  years  of 
age,  was  seen  sitting  beside  the  railing  of 
the  fence  of  the  brick  church  on  the  corner 
of  Park  Row  and  Beekman  Street.  She 
wore  an  old  patched  cloak  ovfcr  a  soiled 
dress,  and  a  thin,  common  calico  sun-bonnet. 
She  had  by  her  side  a  basket  filled  with 
apples  and  candy. 

She  was  shivering  with  cold.  She  had  a 
full  face,  made  ruddy  and  rough  by  exposure 
to  the  piercing  wind  ;  and  though  she  had  a 
sad,  suffering  look,  one  could  not  fail  to  see 
patience  and  truthfulness  in  her  counte- 
nance. She  had  light  hair,  decently  combed, 
and  the  expression  of  her  mild  blue  eye  in- 
dicated an  unusual  degree  of  gentleness  and 
delicacy. 

On  that  Sunday  morning,  as  Mr.  C  ,  one 

of  the  secretaries  of  the  American  Sunday- 
school  Union  for  the  district  of  New  York, 
was  passing  the  place,  he  noticed  this  little 
girl  with  her  basket.  "Surely,"  thought 
he,  "  some  stern  necessity  must  have  driven 
her  out  in  this  severe  weather;''  and  he 
stopped  and  spoke  to  her. 

"  Where  do  you  live,  little  girl  ?" 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


13 


"At  'No.  345  Pearl  Street,  in  the  third 
story." 

"  And  why  do  you  sell  candy  and  apples 
on  Sunday  ?" 

"I  can't  help  it,  sir." 

"  Do  your  parents  allow  you  to  break  the 
Sabbath?" 

"  I  have  no  parents :  they  are  both  dead." 
"Whom  do  you  live  with?" 
"  I  live  with  Miss  Dougherty." 

There  was  an  air  of  good-breeding  about 
the  child,  and  a  frankness  in  answering, 
that  enlisted  the  friend's  attention,  and  her 
sufferings  from  the  intense  cold  at  once 
awakened  his  sympathies. 

He  proceeded  to  question  her  further. 

"Why  do  you  live  with  Miss  Dougherty?" 

"Oh!  I  belong  to  her.  She  takes  care 
of  me." 

"  How  long  ago  did  your  father  and  mo- 
ther die  ?" 

"  My  father  died  in  England  before  we 
came  to  this  country,  and  my  mother  died 
here,  after  we  came  over;  and  my  step- 
father gave  me  to  old  Miss  Dougherty." 

"Can  you  read?"  * 


14 


MARIA  CHEESEMAN  J  OR, 


"Yes,  sir." 

"  Have  you  got  a  Bible?" 

"No,  sir.  I  used  to  have  one,  but  I 
haven't  any  now." 

He  at  once  went  to  his  room  in  the  rear 
of  the  Brick  Church,  brought  out  a  New 
Testament,  and  opened  it,  and  asked  her  to 
read ;  and  found  she  could  read  quite  well. 

"  Would  you  like  to  go  to  Sunday-school  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir ;  but  Miss  Dougherty  won't  let 
me.  She  makes  me  sell  apples  and  candy 
every  Sunday." 

"Perhaps  I  will  come  and  see  you. 
Where  did  you  say  you  live  ?" 

"At  345  Pearl  Street, in  the  upper  story." 

"  Will  you  keep  this  Testament  and  read 
it,  if  I  will  give  it  to  you  ?" 

"Yes,  sir,  I  will" 

He  gave  the  Testament  to  the  child,  and 
went  about  his  official  duties.  Passing 
round  through  the  Park  and  on  the  side- 
walks opposite  to  the  church,  she  continued 
to  sell  her  apples  and  candy  during  the 
whole  of  this  severe  day,  until  dark.  She 
watched  the  people,  and  saw  other  children, 
with  their  parents,  going  to  the  house  of 
God.    She  heard  faint  sounds  of  music  as 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


35 


the  assembly  of  God's  people  sung  his 
praises,  and  all  these  things  awakened  sad 
memories  in  her  heart,  for  she  too  had  been 
taught  to  frequent  the  house  of  God. 

It  was  on  this  same  New  year's  day  that 
a  new  mission  Sunday-school  had  been 
opened  at  143  Reade  Street,  in  a  little  room 
about  twenty-five  feet  wide.  A  Sunday- 
school  connected  with  a  church  in  the  upper 
part  of  the  city  had  established  this  school 
and  paid  all  its  expenses.  They  employed 
a  missionary  to  conduct  it  on  Sunday,  and 
during  the  week  to  visit  the  poor  in  the 
vicinity,  going  from  house  to  house,  acquiring 
their  confidence;  to  pray  with  them,  per- 
suading them  to  send  their  children  to  the 
Sunday-school ;  to  distribute  tracts  and 
Bibles ;  to  minister  to  the  sick  and  dying, 
and  to  provide  homes  in  the  country  for  the 
orphans,  the  neglected,  and  the  forsaken. 

This  mission-school  was  opened  in  one  of 
the  many  dreary  moral  wastes  in  the  city  of 
New  York  where  there  is  no  Sabbath,  no 
church,  and  no  Sunday-school ;  where  scarcely 
a  Bible  can  be  found  in  any  habitation ; 
where  the  houses  are  crowded  with  emi- 
grants ;  where  the  streets  swarm"  with  mise- 


16  MARIA  cheeseman;  or, 

rable,  ragged,  half-civilized  children;  and 
where  the  haunts  of  sin  and  shame  are  seen 
on  every  side. 

The  Sunday-school  that  had  undertaken 
this  missionary  work,  and  the  church  with 
which  it  was  connected,  were  once  situated 
near  the  place  where  the  new  mission-school 
was  organized.  For,  as  most  of  our  readers 
are  aware,  the  business  portions  of  the  great 
metropolis  have  gradually  extended  until 
they  have  embraced  large  sections  that  were, 
a  little  while  ago,  occupied  with  dwelling- 
houses.  The  inhabitants  being  thus  driven 
away  by  the  advance  of  commercial  enter- 
prise, sought  residences  in  the  remote  por- 
tions of  the  city,  and  there  provided  them- 
selves with  houses  of  worship.  Of  course, 
those  who  did  not  remove  were,  in  many 
cases,  left  without  their  accustomed  church 
privileges.  The  edifice  in  which  the  gospel 
had  been  preached  being  removed,  and  the 
site  occupied  by  some  magnificent  hotel 
or  block  of  stores,  no  monument  remained 
to  indicate  the  spot  where  once  the  gospel 
of  Christ  had  been  preached,  and  where 
once  stood  a  temple  dedicated  to  his  wor- 
ship. 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


17 


It  need  not  be  said  that  by  thus  withdraw- 
ing the  means  of  grace  from  the  midst  of 
those  who  most  needed  them,  the  kingdom 
of  darkness  gained  quite  as  much  as  the 
kingdom  of  Christ.  The  people  of  God 
were  taking  great  care  of  themselves,  but 
the  servants  of  the  world  and  sin  were  left 
to  wander  and  perish.  The  Sunday-school 
connected  with  the  church  in  its  new  loca- 
tion resolved  to  raise  one  solitary  banner  of 
the  cross  to  mark  the  spot  which  once  they 
had  possessed  in  the  name  of  the  Lord. 
They  believed  in  the  command,  "  Go 
preach,"  as  well  as  "  Come,  hearken." 

Upon  this,  the  first  Sunday  in  the  year, 
the  first  humble  effort  of  this  mission-school 

was  made.    Mr.  C  ,  the  missionary,  was 

present  in  the  morning.  Fourteen  or  fifteen 
scholars  came,  but  no  seats  could  be  pro- 
vided. In  the  afternoon  they  came  again, 
each  received  a  tract  and  a  few  words  of 
counsel,  and  then  they  were  dismissed  with 
promises  of  better  accommodations  the  next 
Sunday.  The  person  who  had  met  the  little 
candy-girl  on  the  street  in  the  morning, 
came  to  this  school  in  the  afternoon  to  wit- 
ness the  first  experiment.    As  he  sat  by  the 

2* 


,18  MARIA  cheeseman;  or, 


fire  with  the  missionary,  Mr.  C  ,  after 

the  scholars  had  gone,  he  spoke  about  the 
little  girl  he  had  met  in  the  morning,  and 
about  the  probability  of  finding  her.  He 
could  not  forget  her  sad,  suffering  counte- 
nance. 

It  was  now  nearly  dark.  "  Do  you  think 
we  can  find  her?  Had  w^e  better  try  it 
to-night?"  were  ventured  questions. 

The  missionary  was  a  man  of  work.  He 
said — 

"I  think  we  can  find  her.  "We  can  try  it, 
at  least;"  and  so  they  concluded  to  go  in 
search  of  the  girl. 

It  was  a  freezing  night.  She  lived  away 
more  than  a  mile  from  them.  As  they 
hurried  on  through  the  forsaken  streets, 
pinched  with  the  cold,  they  beguiled  the 
time  in  a  dialogue  like  the  following : 

"  Well,  it  would  be  too  bad  if,  after  all 
this,  the  little  thing  should  deceive  us!" 

"  Yes  ;  I  should  not  like  to  be  imposed  on 
such  a  cold  night  as  this." 

"But  she  seemed  like  an  honest,  well-bred 
child ;  and  we  must  not  take  it  for  granted 
that  all  these  poor,  hard-working  children 
are  impostors." 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


19 


When  they  reached  the  place,  they  con- 
cluded they  had  come  on  a  fool's  errand. 
The  house  was  a  high  one,  and  looked  like 
some  large  factory.  There  were  no  lights 
in  it,  and  it  seemed  deserted.  One  of  them 
looked  up  to  the  house,  and  said — 

"Well,  she  does  not  live  here.  I  think 
we  had  better  go  home." 

"  But,"  said  the  other,  "  don't  let  us  give 
up,  now  we  have  got  here;  let  us  go  up 
stairs  and  look." 

They  entered  the  dark  side-hall,  and 
groped  their  way  up  three  flights  of  dirty, 
rickety  stairs  to  the  garret  of  the  house, 
and  there,  some  one  in  the  entry  said,  lived 
Mrs.  Dougherty,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
hall.  They  knocked  at  the  door,  and  a 
sharp  female  voice,  in  a  very  unwelcome 
tone,  said,  "  Come  in." 

They  went  in.  It  was  growing  dark,  and 
Maria  had  just  come  in  from  the  street,  and 
was  trying  to  light  a  fire.  The  fire  afforded 
just  light  enough  to  show  a  forlorn-looking 
room,  under  the  roof,  with  one  window,  and 
one  bed.  Maria's  basket,  and  the  Testament 
which  had  been  given  her  in  the  morning, 
were  on  the  table,  a  heap  of  kindling-wood 


20 


MARIA  CHEESEMAN;  OR, 


lay  beside  a  little  stove,  and  a  few  old  chairs 
comprised  all  the  furniture  and  comforts  of 
this  miserable  apartment.  Maria  seemed 
very  much  astonished  to  see  them.  The 
woman  was  quite  softened  in  her  manners 
when  she  saw  two  respectable-looking  men 
in  her  room,  and  received  them  with  much 
apparent  good-will.  She  asked  them  to 
take  seats.  She  was  a  woman  of  small 
stature,  perhaps  fifty  years  of  age,  spare 
frame,  thin,  sharp  features,  with  a  hard,  se- 
vere expression.  She  seemed  feeble  in 
health,  and  appeared  as  if  sickness  and  dis- 
appointment had  soured  her  temper. 

Mr.  C  told  her  he  had  met  Maria  in 

the  morning  selling  apples  and  candy,  and 
he  was  sorry  to  see  her  breaking  the  Sab- 
bath,— that  it  was  hard  to  compel  such  a 
child  to  go  out  and  labour  all  day  on  Sun- 
day. 

She  said  she  knew  it  was  bad,  but  she  was 
obliged  to  do  it, — that  she  had  nothing  to 
buy  food  even  that  day  until  Maria  came 
home  with  her  money. 

This  was  a  hard  argument  to  answer. 

They  then  told  her  she  ought  to  put  her 
to  some  other  occupation,  or  into  some 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


21 


good  family.  No ;  she  would  not  do  that. 
Maria  must  work  for  her,  or  she  would  have 
nothing  to  live  on.  She  said  Maria  was 
not  as  badly  off  as  many  other  girls, — that 
she  had  done  a  great  deal  for  Maria,  and 
now  she  must  work  for  her.  Mr.  C  pro- 
posed that  she  should  go  and  live  in  his 
family.  The  old  woman  would  not  hear  a 
word  of  it,  and  said,  "  She  would  not  let 
her  go  to  live  with  the  president," 

"But  you  certainly  must  not  send  her 
out  on  Sunday.  Suppose  you  let  her  go  to 
the  Sunday-school?  We  have  just  got  a 
new  one  started  in  Eeade  Street,  and  we 
want  all  the  children  we  can  get." 

"  No,  sir ;  I  can't  let  her  go :  I  am  too 
poor.  I  cannot  get  any  thing  to  eat  on 
Sunday  until  Maria  comes  in ;  and  you 
would  not  let  a  poor  creature,  like  me, 
starve  to  death,  would  you  ?" 

"But  don't  you  know  it  is  very  wrong  to 
make  a  child,  like  her,  break  the  Sabbath  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  know  it  is ;  but  I  don't  think  it 
is  so  very  wrong  for  poor  folks  to  wTork 
Sunday,  who  can't  live  without." 

They  then  asked  the  old  woman  if  tjiey 
might  pray  with  her,  and  she  consented. 


22 


MARIA  CHEESEMAN;  OR, 


They  kneeled  in  prayer  in  that  miserable 
garret,  and  in  that  prayer  they  commended 
this  little  child  to  the  care  of  God,  and 
asked  that  he  would  save  her  from  sin  and 
wretchedness,  and  lead  her  in  paths  of  right- 
eousness, for  his  name's  sake. 

How  that  prayer  in  this  upper  room  was 
answered,  the  sequel  of  the  child's  history 
will  show. 

From  that  hour,  light  began  to  shine  on 
*  her  pathway.  The  next  New  Year's  day 
did  not  daWn  on  her  through  the  window 
of  that  miserable  garret.  It  did  not  behold 
her  toiling  painfully,  hopelessly,  through  cold 
and  snow,  in  the  streets  of  New  York,  for  her 
daily  bread, — a  slave  to  the  will  of  another. 

Before  leaving  the  old  woman,  these 
visitors  asked  how  much  Maria  earned  on 
Sunday.  She  said  four  or  five  shillings. 
They  then  promised  to  give  her  fifty  cents, 
if  she  would  allow  Maria  to  come  to  the 
Sunday-school  the  next  Sabbath.  She 
finally  consented  to  this  arrangement. 

They  spoke  a  few  kind  words  to  Maria, 
told  her  exactly  where  the  school  was,  and 
that  she  must  certainly  come  ;  and,  paying 
the  fifty  cents,  they  left  her.    The  old  wo- 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


23 


man  professed  great  seriousness  and  regard 
for  religion,  and  was  profuse  in  her  bene- 
dictions ;  and  they  felt  their  way  down  the 
dark  stairway  to  the  street. 

Thus  began,  and  thus  ended,  this  New 
Tear's  day  to  the  little  subject  of  our  story. 
Its  dawn  brought  no  ray  of  joy  to  her  as  it  did 
to  thousands  of  children  in  the  great  city; 
but  its  close  left  a  beam  of  hope,  which 
was  like  sunlight  in  her  soul.  She  had  found 
a  friend.  Kind  words,  for  the  first  time  in 
many  years,  had  been  spoken  to  her. 

These  gentlemen  made  their  way  home, 
feeling  that  they  had  performed  a  duty  in 
visiting  the  fatherless,  and  hoping  they  had 
found  one  scholar  for  the  new  mission- 
school.  This  was  all  they  knew ;  but  they 
had,  in  truth,  set  in  motion  a  train  of  causes 
which,  directed  by  the  hand  of  Providence, 
were  to  save  this  neglected  orphan  child 
from  a  life  of  wretchedness. 

We  would  here  suggest  that  the  true 
mode  of  effectually  prosecuting  missionary 
labour  among  the  most  abject  in  our  great 
cities,  is  to  visit  them  in  their  homes.  Go 
and  seek  the  lost  in  their  cellars,  in  their 
garrets,  in  their  sin.    Let  the  missionary  do 


24 


MARIA  CHEESEMAN;  OR, 


it  statedly ;  always  labouring  iu  his  own 
district,  from  house  to  house,  until  he  is 
known,  until  he  has  gained  general  confi- 
dence by  iris  sympathy,  by  his  ministrations 
in  sickness,  by  his  benefactions  in  their  dis- 
tress. He  is  thus  prepared  to  gather  the 
pupils  of  his  Sunday-school.  He  has  a  hold 
upon  them  when  secured,  and  can  bring 
religious  truth  to  their  more  serious  atten- 
tion. 

When  he  visits  these  children  at  home 
during  the  week,  the  impressions  made  by 
the  two  hours  of  Sunday  teaching  are  con- 
firmed, w7hile  otherwise  they  might  be  ob- 
literated by  an  unchecked  course  of  worldli- 
ness  for  the  other  six  days. 

"We  believe  that  one  great  object  of  mis- 
sion-schools should  be  to  seek  out  and  follow 
up  individual  cases.  The  wrild,  ragged,  and 
wicked  children  of  our  city  will  never  be 
saved  in  the  mass.  If  they  are  saved  at  all, 
it  will  be  by  taking  them  one  by  one,  wherever 
they  can  be  found.  The  visiting  missionary 
will  get  the  confidence  of  a  large  number  of 
parents.  Some  pinched  by  poverty,  and  some 
in  order  to  remove  their  offspring  from  their 
own  sinful  example,  will  give  up  their  chil- 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


25 


dren  to  him,  to  provide  a  home.  A  widow 
will  leave  her  orphan  to  his  kind  care  when 
she  dies.  He  will  find  a  forsaken  child 
wandering  in  the  streets.  He  will  find  the 
young  emigrant  houseless,  friendless,  about 
to  be  decoyed  into  a  course  of  shame.  He 
will  find  the  child,  enslaved  and  abused  by 
another  who  has  no  legal  control  over  her, 
as  was  the  case  with  her  whose  history  now 
engages  us.  One  by  one,  he  provides  for  all 
these  cases.  This  child  will  be  sent  to  one 
institution,  and  that  to  another ;  one  to  a 
good  place  in  the  country,  another  to  a  good 
family  in  the  city.  The  law  will  be  invoked 
to  give  protection  to  the  oppressed,  for 
whom  a  home  with  Christian  influences 
will  be  provided.  There  is  hope  for  every 
one  thus  rescued.  There  is  scarcely  any 
hope  for  those  who  are  not. 

May  not  the  labours  of  that  mission- 
school  of  which  we  have  spoken,  carried  on 
by  a  small  band  of  self-denying  teachers,  be 
adduced  as  an  example  ? 

By  the  efforts  of  this  humble  institution, 
sixteen  children  in  one  year  have  been  re- 
moved fcpm  vile  associations,  miserable 
dwellings,  and  extreme  poverty,  to  homes 


26 


MARIA  CHEESEMAN;  OR, 


of  Christian  influence — generally  in  the 
country.  Some  were  found  wandering  in 
the  streets,  some  left  orphans,  and  given,  as 
one  poor  dying  mother  said,  "to  our  folks." 
One  young  emigrant  girl,  a  stranger,  just 
landed,  was  found  wandering  in  the  streets, 
without  a  single  friend  in  the  country. 
Some  were  given  up  by  their  parents,  who, 
with  one  spark  of  parental  love  left,  desired 
to  save  their  children  from  their  own  sinful 
courses.  One,  a  little  boy,  was  found  al- 
most starved  to  death  in  the  streets,  driven 
away  by  a  drunken  father. 

All  honour  be  to  those  who  are  engaged 
in  these  labours!  The  mission-schools  of 
our  great  cities  are  among  the  most  remark- 
able features  of  our  times.  Their  rapid  in- 
crease and  their  wonderful  success  show 
that  the  hand  of  God  is  in  the  movement. 

They  are  the  hope  of  our  great  cities, 
and  the  true  reform  associations.  Few 
sights  on  earth  are  more  touching  to  the 
Christian  heart  than  the  view  of  the  thou- 
sands of  poor  children  now  gathered  every 
Sabbath  in  the  mission-schools  of  the  city 
of  New  York.  Let  the  eye  waiader  over 
the  area  from  river  to  river,  on  any  Sunday, 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


27 


looking  in  upon  a  band  of  German  children 
here,  reading  the  Bible  in  the  language  of 
the  fatherland ;  and  there  upon  a  school  of 
Jewish  children,  reading  the  lS~ew  Testament. 
Farther  on  is  a  collection  of  ragged  news- 
boys, and  in  another  place  a  class  of  Chinese. 
At  the  Five  Points  are  a  thousand  or  more 
of  sorrowing  poor ;  while  all  along  the  East 
River  is  seen  school  after  school,  with  from 
three  hundred  to  eight  hundred  children, 
gathered  from  the  docks  and  streets.  Mark 
the  contrast!  In  the  instruction  of  these 
schools  some  of  the  best  energy,  talent,  and 
piety  of  the  church  is  acting  upon  the  worst 
and  most  degraded  elements  of  society.  It 
is  like  the  sunlight  breaking  in  upon  the 
clouds  and  chaos  of  an  unfinished  creation. 

From  the  lips  of  these  thousands  of 
wretched,  neglected,  and  sinful  children,  the 
voice  of  praise  is  resounding.  The  word 
of  God  is  read  by  them,  and  they  hear  the 
voice  of  prayer.  The  hand  of  God  is  cer- 
tainly in  this  work.  Is  it  not  emphatically 
the  work  of  the  Christian  churches  in  our 
cities  ?  "What  Christian  can  excuse  himself, 
when  the  finger  of  God's  providence  so 
plainly  points  to  his  field  of  labour  ? 


28 


MARIA  CHEESEMAN;  OR, 


Lift  up  your  eyes !  Behold,  the  field  is 
white  to  the  harvest !  The  field  is  all  around 
you.  You  pass  over  it  every  day.  There 
are  eighty  thousand  children,  this  day,  in  the 
city  of  New  York  alone,  without  the  privi- 
leges of  the  Sunday-school,  without  the 
means  of  grace,  without  the  Bible.  They 
are  heathen.  Any  number  of  these  can  be 
brought  under  religious  teaching.  The  pro- 
vidence of  God  has  prepared  the  field  for 
occupation.  New  enterprises  are  waiting  on 
every  hand.  The  appeal  for  teachers  is  loud 
and  earnest.  Veterans  who  have  been 
honourably  dismissed  from  service  have 
heard  the  call,  and  have  returned  to  duty. 
The  call  for  men  is  still  pressing ;  and  yet 
there  are  hundreds,  yes,  thousands  of  men — 
young  men,  others  in  middle  life,  strong 
men,  rich  men,  men  of  leisure,  educated 
men,  enterprising  men — in  our  churches, 
who  have  not  responded  to  this  call.  When 
pressed  to  enter  this  service,  they  say,  "  Oh  ! 
I  cannot  teach.  I  have  tried  it,  and  have 
no  faculty  for  it.  I  never  could  get  along 
with  it.  You  must  get  somebody  else,  who 
has  a  tact  for  it." 

It  is  painful  to  hear  a  Christian  man  make 


THE  CANDY-GIRL.  29 

such  excuses.  Is  it  possible  that  the  Lord 
has  made  a  man,  given  him  education,  com- 
petency, a  station  in  society,  an  enterprise 
for  business,  a  standing  in  his  church,  and  has 
shed  abroad  His  love  in  his  heart,  awakened 
holy  and  Christ-like  emotions  and  sym- 
pathies in  his  soul, — and  yet  has  not  given 
this  disciple  of  his  the  capacity  to  teach  the 
Bible  to  a  poor,  ragged,  ignorant  boy,  wait- 
ing for  instruction  in  our  mission-schools? 
Does  not  the  difficulty  lie  farther  back  ?  Is 
he  really  willing  to  do  his  duty  ?  Appeals 
to  such  men  are  often  answered  by  saying, 
"Here  is  my  money,  but  you  must  excuse 
me."  Not  your's,  but  you,  are  called  for. 
Your  gold  and  your  silver  are  the  Lord's  al- 
ready.   He  asks  for  you.    The  command  is, 

"  GO,  WORK  TO-DAY  IN  MY  VINEYARD." 

"  Rouse  to  some  work  of  high  and  holy  love, 
And  thou  an  angel's  happiness  shalt  know — 
Shalt  bless  the  earth  while  in  the  world  above. 

The  good  begun  by  thee  shall  onward  flow 
In  many  a  branching  stream,  and  wider  grow. 

The  seed  that  in  these  few  and  fleeting  hours 
Thy  hands  unsparing  and  unwearied  sowed, 
•  Shall  deck  thy  grave  with  amaranthine  flowers, 
And  yield  the  fruit  divine  in  heaven's  immortal  bowers. 
3* 


30 


MARIA  CHEESEMAN;  OR, 


CHAPTER  n. 

THE  RESCUE. 

Ox  Monday,  the  second  day  of  the  year, 
Mr.  C  ,  the  missionary  and  the  superin- 
tendent of  the  Eeade  Street  Sunday-school. 

requested  Miss  M  ,  one  of  the  teachers 

of  that  school,  to  make,  if  possible,  some  ar- 
rangement with  Mrs.  Dougherty  for  Maria's 
attendance  regularly  at  school.    The  same 

day,  Miss  M  called  at  Mrs.  Dougherty's, 

in  her  garret,  but  was  not  very  graciously 
received. 

She  made  known  her  errand,  and  urged 
Maria's  attendance  at  school  on  Sundays ; 
but  Mrs.  Dougherty  pleaded  her  great 
poverty,  and  the  necessity  she  was  under  to 
use  the  child  as  a  means  of  obtaining  some- 
thing to  eat.  To  obviate  these  objections, 
it  was  finally  arranged  that,  for  the  present. 

she  would  receive,  through  Miss  M  ,  fifty 

cents'  worth  of  groceries  each  week,  and  that 
on  this  consideration,  Maria  should  not  be 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


31 


sent  out  to  sell  apples  and  candy  on  Sunday, 
but  should  be  allowed  to  come  to  the  school. 

The  little  girl  seemed  to  have  waked  up 
to  a  new  life.  The  idea  of  going  to  a  Sunday- 
school  made  her  heart  joyful,  and  lighted  up 
her  thin,  sad  face  with  a  glad  smile. 

Thus  did  this  orphan  find  another  friend 
whom  she  will  never  forget.    This  was  the 

first  visit  of  Miss  M         to  this  desolate 

home,  but  not  the  last.  This  little  girl  had 
now  a  strong  hold  on  the  heart  of  her 
teacher.  Her  truthfulness,  seriousness,  affec- 
tion, and  gentleness,  won  the  confidence  of 
all  who   knew  her.    During  this  severe 

winter,  Miss  M  was  often  seen  in  that 

garret  as  a  visitor  and  a  comforter,  led  there 
by  affection  for  this  orphan  child,  as  well  as 
by  a  sense  of  duty. 

On  the  next  Sabbath — the  second  Sabbath 
of  the  New  Year — Maria  (now  familiarly 
called  "The  Candy-Girl")  was  at  the  Sun- 
day-school in  Keade  Street.  Here,  for  the 
first  time  since  she  left  England,  she  was  in 
a  place  of  worship,  and  heard  the  voice  of 
public  prayer.  Strange  thoughts  must  have 
passed  through  her  mind — thoughts  of  other 
days,  when  she  had  been  a  Sabbath  scholar, 


32 


MARIA  CHEESEMAN;  OR, 


in  another  land — a  joyous,  happy  child.  How 
wide  the  chasm  between!  How  dark  her 
path  through  it !  Yet  an  angel  hand  had 
led  her  on. 

She  was  placed  in  Miss  M  's  class, 

and  was  found  to  be  an  intelligent  scholar, 
earnest  in  learning  the  truth.  She  showed 
a  maturity  of  judgment  and  a  degree  of 
seriousness  and  good-breeding  which  at- 
tracted unusual  attention.  For  the  first 
time  in  more  than  five  years,  she  read  the 
Bible.  She  also  received  a  library-book. 
Through  these  means,  divine  light  began  to 
beam  on  her  mind. 

As  she  lived  on  the  east  side  of  the  town, 
at  some  distance  from  the  Eeade  Street 
School,  it  was  considered  best  that  she 
should  attend  the  Roosevelt  Mission  Sun- 
day-school, which  was  near  her  residence  ; 
and  she  w7as  accordingly  transferred  to  that 
school  during  the  ensuing  week,  and  an  ar- 
rangement made  with  Miss  S  (her  teach- 
er there)  to  receive  a  ticket  every  Sabbath 
for  fifty  cents'  worth  of  groceries ;  which 
was  taken  by  Maria  to  Mrs. Dougherty,  as  an 
equivalent  for  her  Sunday  services  in  selling 
apples.    She  was  one  of  the  best  scholars  in 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


33 


the  school — always  present,  attentive,  and 
thoughtful,  and  seemed  to  prize  instruction 
and  the  Bible  as  new  and  precious  blessings. 

How  would  all  Sunday-school  scholars 
value  one  hour's  instruction  from  the  Bible, 
if  they  were  doomed  for  years  to  forego  these 
privileges — to  hear  no  prayer — to  visit  no 
church,  nor  even  to  read  the  Bible  in  all 
that  time ! 

Maria  had  a  refinement,  a  gentleness  and 
docility  of  manner  which  showed  that  she 
had  been  trained  under  better  influences  than 
those  which  now  surrounded  her. 

Her  first  teacher,  Miss  M  ,  and  the 

missionary,  Mr.  C  ,  frequently  visited  her 

during  the  winter  at  her  forlorn  home. 
They  found  Mrs.  Dougherty  always  there, 
generally  complacent,  but  always  complain- 
ing of  her  poverty.  She  told  them  that 
Maria  was  an  English  child;  that  her  mother 
died  many  years  ago  at  New  York,  when 
Maria  was  very  young,  and  before  she  could 
do  any  thing  for  herself ;  that  she,  (Mrs. 
Dougherty,)  by  request  of  the  child's  father, 
then  took  her  and  provided  for  her;  and 
that  Maria  had  lived  with  her  ever  since. 
She  said  Maria  owed  every  thing  to  her,  and 


34 


MARIA  CHEESEMAN;  OR, 


she  had  now  just  become  able  to  do  some- 
thing for  her.  From  Maria  they  learned,  in 
general,  that  she  came  from  England  with 
her  parents  about  five  or  six  years  before ; 
and  that  soon  after  they  landed,  her  mother 
died ;  that  her  step-father,  who  was  intem- 
perate, had  left  her  with  old  Mrs.  Dougherty ; 
and  that  she  had  ever  since  lived  with  her. 

This  was  all  that,  as  yet,  was  known  of 
the  child's  history.  She  attended  Sunday- 
school  regularly  during  the  winter  and 
spring  of  1854,  until  the  latter  part  of  April. 
Every  week-day — in  sunshine,  rain,  or  snow — 
she  was  seen  in  the  streets,  from  sunrise  till 
night,  selling  apples  and  candy. 

Her  place  of  resort  was  along  the  Park, 
in  Chatham  Street,  opposite  the  Brick 
Church,  or  by  the  Astor  House,  corner  of 
Vesey  Street.  Her  face  was  well  known  to 
those  accustomed  to  pass  these  places,  and 
"the  candy-girl"  had  many  friends  who 
never  knew  her  name,  whence  she  came,  or 
whither  she  went. 

It  was  a  life  of  severe  labour  for  a  child. 

Her  friend,  Mr.  C  ,  frequently  paid  her 

a  visit  at  the  corners  of  the  streets,  and  by 
kind  words  encouraged  her  in  her  hard  ser- 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


35 


vice.  He  hoped,  by  a  kind  Providence,  to  get 
her  a  good  situation  in  some  family ;  and  this 
seemed  to  be  the  height  of  her  ambition. 

During  this  time  she  said  little  about  the 
woman  in  whose  garret  she  lodged ;  but  it 
was  afterwards  learned  that  these  were  hard 
times  for  the  poor  girl.    The  old  woman  had 

become  jealous  of  Mr.  C  ,  and  feared 

that  he  was  trying  to  get  the  child  away 
from  her.  Her  health-  was  feeble,  and  she 
was  growing  daily  more  morose  and  severe. 
She  was,  at  times,  impatient  and  cruel.  She 
was  an  Irish  Catholic,  and  had  been  forsaken 
by  her  husband.  She  had  one  son,  about 
sixteen  years  of  age,  who  lived  with  her,  and 
was  her  especial  pet — spending  the  money 
that  was  earned  by  Maria's  toil. 

This  poor  girl  suffered  actual  persecution 
in  her  efforts  to  attend  the  Sunday-school. 
She  often,  and,  indeed,  generally,  went  after 
a  cruel  beating,  as  it  was  stated  by  those  who 
lived  in  the  adjoining  room.  Yet  she  al- 
ways went,  and  appeared  cheerful  and  happy ; 
for  hope  was  lighted  up  in  her  heart,  and  she 
there  found  friends  and  sympathy,  for  which 
her  heart  had  yearned  for  years  in  vain. 

Maria  was  earning  from  fifty  to  seventy- 


36 


MARIA  CHEESEMAN  ;  OR, 


five  cents  a  day,  for  her  employer,  and  she 
might  well  fear  to  lose  her.  Almost  every 
day,  when  she  came  in  from  the  streets,  the 
old  woman  would  inquire  if  she  had  seen 

Mr.  C          and  talked  with  him,  and  what 

he  said ;  and  would  accuse  her  of  designing 
to  leave  her. 

She  would  attempt  to  awaken  her  fears, 

too,  by  telling  her  that  Mr.  C   only 

wished  to  get  her  into  some  Protestant 
family  or  school,  and  shut  her  up,  to  make 
a  Protestant  of  her ;  and  she  was  constantly 
upbraiding  Maria  for  caring  more  for  Mr. 
C  and  Miss  M  than  for  herself. 

"  This  was  about  the  hardest  time  I  evei 
had  with  the  old  woman,"  said  the  child. 
"  Sometimes,  when  she  scolded  at  me,  I 
would  cry,  and  then  she  would  beat  me  ;  and 
she  would  get  angry  at  the  least  word  I  said, 
and  strike  me.  She  would  say  the  Sunday- 
school  was  a  bad  place ;  that  we  ought  not 
to  read  the  Bible. 

Thus  things  went  on  until  the  latter  part 
of  April, — the  old  woman  receiving  weekly 
her  supply  of  groceries. 

The  friends  of  Maria  began  to  think  it 
was  time  that  their  weekly  contributions 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


37 


to  Mrs.  Dougherty  should  be  withheld; 
and  accordingly  Maria  was  soon  after 
notified  that  no  more  tickets  would  be 
given. 

On  the  next  Sabbath,  (April  22,)  Maria 
was  not  at  the  Sunday-school.  The  old 
woman  had  refused  to  let  her  go,  and  the 
tears  and  supplications  of  the  girl  were 
unavailing. 

She  was  sent  out  again  into  the  streets,  on 
Sunday  morning,  to  sell  apples  and  candy. 
It  was  a  sad  blow  to  her  hopes  and  her  pride, 
and  a  terrible  wound  to  her  conscience. 
She  had  been  trying  to  do  right  and  to  be- 
come respectable.  In  conversation,  after- 
wards, with  Maria,  we  asked  her,  "What 
seemed  the  darkest  time  in  her  life  ?" 

She  said,  "  I  rather  guess  it  was  when 
Mrs.  Dougherty  took  me  away  from  the 
Sunday-school.  I  thought,  somehow,  by 
means  of  the  Sunday-school,  I  might  get 
away  from  the  old  woman,  and  get  a  place 
in  a  family ;  but  now  I  thought  it  was  all 
over,  and  that  I  never  could  get  away." 

A  dark  cloud  of  despair  seemed  to  have 
gathered  over  her  again,  and  all  her  fond 
hopes  of  rescue  from  her  miserable  life,  were 


38 


MARIA  CHEESEMAN;  OK, 


disappointed.  To  her  it  seemed  a  calamity ; 
but 

"  Behind  a  frowning  proridence, 
God  hides  a  smiling  face." 

It  was  the  means  of  her  rescue,  and  of  her 
restoration  to  home  and  Mends. 

Mr.  C         ascertained,  on  Monday,  that 

she  had  been  taken  away  from  the  school, 
.and  he  then  determined  to  invoke  the  aid  of 
-the  law  and  take  Maria  from  the  old  wo- 
man. The  plan  was  matured  during  the 
week,  and  on  Saturday  morning  he  con- 
sulted a  lawyer  as  to  the  possibility  of  arrest- 
ins:  Maria  as  a  vagrant.  It  was  found 
practicable.  He  then  went  before  one  of  the 
authorities  of  the  city,  and  made  his  affida^ 
vit  of  the  facts  relating  to  her,  stating  her 
orphanage,  and  the  cruelty  of  the  old  woman. 
An  order  was  obtained  for  committing  Maria 
to  the  guardianship  of  the  "Home  for  the 
Friendless."  But  the  most  difficult  part  of 
the  task  remained  —  namely,  to  seize  the 
child  and  convey  her  to  her  newly-con- 
stituted guardians. 

Before  making  the  arrest,  Mr.  C  con- 
cluded to  try  persuasion  with  the  old  woman, 
.and  to  get  her  consent  to  Maria's  going  to 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


39 


some  other  place  to  live.  He  accordingly 
went  to  Mrs.  Dougherty's  garret,  found  her  at 
home,  and  tried  to  persuade  her  to  give  up 
the  child.  But  she  was  very  angry  and  abu- 
sive, and  said,  as  usual,  that  "  Maria  should 
not  go  to  live  with  any  one — not  even  with 
the  president ;  that  she  was  her  girl,  and  she 
would  keep  her  in  spite  of  anybody." 

Mr.  C — —  now  proceeded  to  Chatham 
Street,  to  find  Maria.  He  did  not  find  her 
opposite  the  old  church,  and  he  went  to  the 
corner  of  Centre  Street ;  but  she  was  not 
there ;  and  he  began  to  fear  he  might  lose 
her  after  all.  He  asked  an  apple-woman, 
near  by,  where  Maria  was,  and  was  told  she 
had  gone  to  the  corner  of  Broadway  and 
Vesey  Street,  under  the  awning  where  she 
always  went  when  it  rained. 

Mr.  C  now  procured  a  policeman  to 

serve  his  warrant  and  arrest  Maria.  They 
found  her,  about  five  o'clock  in  the  after- 
noon, at  the  corner  of  Broadway  and  Vesey 

Street.     Mr.  C          went  up  to  her  very 

quietly,  and  said  that  he  wanted  her  to  go 
with  him  to  a  good  home  he  had  found  for 
her.  But  when  she  saw  the  officer  with  his 
star,  (the  badge  of  a  New  York  policeman,) 


40  MARIA  cheeseman;  or, 

she  at  once  became  frightened,  and  said  she 
would  not  go.  The  officer  told  her  she  must 
go,  that  they  would  not  harm  her ;  and  he 
took  hold  of  her  arm.  She  began  to  cry  and 
scream  with  fear,  thinking  she  was  to  be 
taken  to  prison.  She  said  she  had  not  done 
any  thing  wrong,  for  which  she  should  go  to 
prison.  She  had  only  sold  apples  and  candy ; 
and  this  she  repeated  again  and  again. 

Her  screams  and  resistance  in  such  a 
public  place  drew  a  large  crowd  around 
and  produced  a  great  commotion ;  and  all 
inquired  what  the  poor  child  had  done,  that 
she  should  be  taken  as  a  thief.  She  appealed 
to  the  multitude  that  she  had  done  nothing  ; 
and  for  a  few  moments  they  seemed  inclined 
to  rescue  her  from  the  officer.  A  large  num- 
ber of  the  crowd  were  Irish  labourers ;  and  as 
she  was  in  great  terror,  she  called  to  mind 
what  Mrs.  Dougherty  had  said  to  awaken  her 
fears,  and  she  cried  out,  "  They  are  going  to 
take  me  away  and  make  a  Protestant  of  me  !" 

But  the  circumstances  of  her  case  were 

explained  to  the  bystanders  by  Mr.  C  

again  and  again,  and  finally  they  approved 
of  the  proceeding,  and  told  Maria  she  had 
bettc  go  with  the  officer. 


Pt.  Cheese  man. 


They  took  her  as  she  was,  with  her  basket  on  her  arm. 


p.  41. 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


41 


They  took  her  just  as  she  was,  with  her 
basket  on  her  arm,  into  a  railroad  car  stand- 
ing in  front  of  the  Astor  House.  She  was 
convulsed  with  sobs  and  trembling  with 

terror.   While  on  their  way,  Mr.  C  tried 

to  calm  her ;  told  her  where  she  was  going, 
and  that  she  would  have  a  good  home, 
which  she  had  wanted  so  long.  But  she 
cried,  and  said  she  had  done  nothing  wrong. 
And  all  the  people  in  the  car  gathered  around 
her,  asking  why  she  was  arrested  ?  She  at 
length  became  somewhat  reconciled,  and 
then  she  began  to  be  troubled  at  leaving  the 
old  woman  so  abruptly.    She  requested  Mr. 

C  to  take  her  basket,  apples,  and  money 

to  the  old  woman,  "  Or  she  will  think,"  said 
Maria,  "  that  I  have  stolen  them  and  run 

away."    Mr.  C  promised  to  return  them 

that  night. 

On  their  arrival  at  the  "  Home"  Maria  was 
committed  to  the  care  of  her  new  guardians. 

It  was  a  strange  home  to  her,  and,  child- 
like, she  began  to   be  homesick !  Mr. 

C  and  the  policeman  left  her,  to  return 

to  the  old  woman  with  Maria's  'basket, 
apples,  and  money.  They  made  their  way, 
for  the  last  time,  up  to  the  garret,  and  told 


42 


MARIA  CIIEESEM AN  ;  OR, 


her  that  Maria  had  gone ;  that  the  law  had 
provided  a  new  home  for  her ;  and  that  this 
was  done  because  she  had  ill-treated  her. 
The  old  woman  was  astonished  at  the  intelli- 
gence, and  begged  to  have  her  back  again 
— promising  to  do  well  by  her.    But  Mr. 

C  left  the  house,  telling  her  it  was  too 

late.  The  old  woman  followed  him  down 
stairs  into  the  street,  and  along  the  side- 
walk, taking  hold  of  his  arm,  beseeching 
him  only  to  tell  her  where  Maria  had  gone. 

But  Mr.  C          was  inexorable,  and  the 

policeman  only  laughed  at  the  old  woman's 
new-born  affection  for  the  child.  She  had 
Uiken  her  last  look  at  the  poor  child. 

A  neighbour,  who  had  every  opportunity 
to  know,  stated  that  she  scarcely  ever  went 
out  after  this  while  she  lived.  She  stayed  in 
her  room,  indulging  her  appetite  for  strong 
drink,  and  cursed  the  Protestants  until  death 
closed  her  mouth,  which  was  some  time 
during  the  following  summer. 

Maria's  sojourn  at  the  uIIome"  was  very 
short:  she  came  there  on  a  Saturday  night ; 
on  the  next  Monday,  they  sent  her  and  a 
number  of  other  girls,  with  one  of  the 
officers  of  the  institute,  to  the  western  part 


THE  CANDY-GIRL.  43 

of  the  State  of  New  York,  for  the  purpose 
of  obtaining  homes  for  them  in  the  country. 
No  place  had  been  provided  for  Maria  before 
she  left.    One  of  the  girls  had  been  engaged 

to  Mrs.  M  ,  of  Tonawanda.    When  the 

company  arrived  there,  Maria  was  left  with 

this  girl  at  the  house  of  Mrs.  M         for  a 

few  days,  while  the  lady  who  had  accom- 
panied them  went  to  Niagara  Falls.  "When 

the  lady  returned  for  Maria,  Mrs.  M  

preferred  Maria  to  the  girl  who  was  intended 
for  her.  This  arrangement  was  assented  to; 
so  that,  in  the  short  space  of  one  week, 
Maria  had  left  a  home  in  the  garret  in  the 
city,  had  ended  a  life  in  the  streets,  and  had 
found  a  new  home  in  a  Christian  family  in 
a  quiet  country  town.  Yes,  now,  for  the  first 
time  since  she  left  England,  she  was  in  the 
country,  and  saw  the  blooming  trees,  the 
green  fields,  the  running  brooks,  and  the  blue 
mountains.  She  said,  "  Every  thing  looked 
so  beautiful !"  and  reminded  her  of  the  days 
when  she  was  in  England  with  her  grand- 
mother.   In  the  family  of  Mr.  and  Mrs. 

M  she  was  treated  with  great  kindness. 

She  won  their  affection. 

Mrs.  M  said,  in  one  of  her  letters  to 


44 


MARIA  CHEESEMAN;  OR, 


Maria's  Mends  in  Jfew  York,  "  It  was  sur- 
prising that  she  had  so  few  faults."  She  was 
obedient,  honest,  conscientious,  and,  what  is 
too  rare  in  children,  she  was  perfectly  truth- 
ful. We  do  not  mean  to  say  that  children 
generally  tell  deliberate  falsehoods,  but  there 
is  such  a  thing  as  suppressing  a  little  of  the 
truth,  or  alloiving  a  person  to  misunderstand 
us,  or  give  a  little  colouring  to  our  state- 
ments. Would  that  all  children  were  like  the 
great  and  good  Washington,  who  could  not 
tell  a  lie ! 

Nothing  is  more  important  than  to  culti- 
vate the  habit  of  perfect  truthfulness,  so  that 
we  shall  love  truth,  and  breathe  it  in  every 
word,  express  it  in  every  look,  and  think  it 
in  every  thought.  Abhor  lying,  deceit,  and 
all  equivocation  ;  strive  against  the  habit  of 
deceit — for  it  is,  with  some  persons,  a  habit 
almost  unconquerable.  The  Bible  is  very 
full  of  instruction  and  warning  on  this  sub- 
ject: "Keep  thy  tongue  from  evil,  and  thy 
lips  from  speaking  guile."  "  The  lip  of  truth 
shall  be  established  forever,  but  a  lying 
tongue  is  but  for  a  moment."  "  Lying  lips  are 
an  abomination  to  the  Lord,  but  they  that  deal 
truly  are  his  delight."    If  you  speak  at  all, 


THE  CANDY-GIRL.  45 

speak  the  truth,  without  fear  or  favour,  to 
high  or  low.  It  was  this  love  of  truth,  per- 
haps, more  than  any  other  thing,  which 
gained  Maria  so  many  friends  wherever  she 
went. 

And  now  we  find  the  little  "  candy-girl" 
at  a  good  home.  All  the  gentle  influences 
of  a  domestic  life,  like  the  genial  sun  of 
spring,  were  now  beaming  upon  her  heart, 
and  were  bringing  forth  there  all  those 
tender  plants  of  confidence,  love,  and  joy 
so  natural  and  beautiful  in  the  child.  She 
attended  the  daily  school  and  Sunday-school 
regularly.  Her  young  heart  had  felt  a  long, 
stern  winter,  which  had  gone  far  to  stifle 
these  childlike  emotions.  ]STow,  like  a  gar- 
den in  spring,  they  were  all  unfolding  them- 
selves in  loveliness. 

She  mingled  with  children  and  engaged 
in  their  sports,  and  began  to  show  the  viva- 
city and  joyousness  of  girlhood.  It  was  a 
new  thing  to  her.  She  was  born  in  the  coun- 
try, yet  for  years  she  had  seen  nothing  of  the 
face  of  nature  but  the  " Park,"  and  heard 
nothing  but  the  ceaseless  noise  and  hubbub 
of  a  great  city.  Now  she  was  among  scenes 
familiar  to  her  earliest  years.  Who,  that  was 


46 


MARIA  CHEESEMAN;  OR, 


born  in  the  country,  does  not  bless  God  for 
it  ?  What  youthful  mind  does  not  love  its 
beauties  ?  What  young  heart  does  not  bow 
in  adoration  to  the  God  whose  glories  are 
beaming  everywhere  ?  The  wide  landscapes, 
the  majestic  mountains,  the  quiet  valleys, 
the  lakes  and  hills,  are  objects  among  which 
the  thoughts  delight  to  rove — refreshing  to 
the  man  of  care,  and  a  solace  to  old  age. 
Happy  the  man  who  has  been  reared  in  the 
country,  and  happy  he  who  can  rear  his 
children  there !  "  God  made  the  country, 
and  man  made  the  town."  I  should  like  to 
stand  on  the  Alps,  to  muse  among  the  classic 
ruins  of  Rome  and  Athens,  to  tread  the 
sacred  scenes  of  Palestine ;  but  my  heart 
bounds  at  the  thought  of  visiting  my 
early  home  in  the  country — the  old  house 
under  the  elms,  where  I  was  born  ;  the  hill- 
top overlooking  the  river,  where  I  have 
watched  the  setting  sun  and  the  rising  moon ; 
the  shady  walk  through  the  forest,  winding 
along  by  the  little  brook ;  every  old  familiar 
tree,  and  bank,  and  hedge,  and  rock,  where 
I  have,  so  many  hours,  sat  musing  on  the 
life  before  me ;  the  churchyard,  where  lie 
buried  my  father  and  my  mother — these 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


47 


scenes  we  love,  and  to  tlxem  we  turn  with 
longing  desire  in  manhood,  and  their 
memory  will  be  green  even  in  old  age. 
Here  >ve  were  born,  and  here  would  we  die 
and  be  gathered  to  our  fathers. 

"We  beg  pardon  for  such  a  disquisition 
on  nature  ;  but  we  hope  to  induce  our  young 
city  readers  to  seek  her  acquaintance  in  her 
own  quiet  bowers;  and  our  young  country 
readers  to  prize  the  blessings  they  enjoy,  and 
not  turn  their  backs  upon  her  face  to  seek 
the  dusty,  noisy,  dangerous  walks  of  a  city  life. 

Here  Maria  had  her  home  for  a  short 
summer.  She  was  also  under  Christian  in- 
fluence in  a  family  of  prayer,  where  she  was 
instructed  in  religion.  Her  duties  were 
domestic.    The  family  consisted  of  Mr.  and 

Mrs.  M  ,  and  a  little  boy  named  Willie, 

whom  they  had  adopted. 

Maria  became  much  attached  to  "Willie, 
who  was  a  sickly  child.  It  was  her  delight 
to  take  him  out  under  the  trees,  and  to 
amuse  him  with  flowers. 

Thus  had  the  Lord  provided  for  this  little 
orphan,  and  fulfilled  his  gracious  promise — 

' '  When  my  father  and  my  mother  forsake  me,  the  Lord 
will  take  me  up." 


48 


MARIA  CHEESEMAN  ;  OR, 


"He  shall  judge  tfre  poor  of  the  people:  he  shall  save 
the  children  of  the  needy,  and  shall  break  in  pieces  the 
oppressor." 

"He  shall  deliver  the  needy  when  he  crieth,  the  poor 
also,  and  him  that  hath  no  helper." 

"  He  relieveth  the  fatherless  and  widow." 

He  had  crowned  the  humble  efforts  of  his 
servants  with  success.  The  command  is, 
"  Defend  the  poor  and  fatherless/'  do  justice 
to  the  afflicted  and  needy :  "  deliver  the 
poor  and  needy."    This  had  been  done. 

The  friends  of  the  poor  "  candy-girl"  were 
rewarded  for  their  persevering  effort ;  and 
who  can  tell  what  good  they  have  done  ? 
"  He  that  converteth  a  sinner  from  the  error 
of  his  ways  shall  save  a  soul  from  death  and 
hide  a  multitude  of  sins."  "Blessed  is  he 
that  considereth  the  poor.  The  Lord  will  de- 
liver him  in  time  of  trouble." 

Miss  M  ,  Maria's  first  fervent  friend, 

continued  to  take  an  interest  in  her,  and 
even  visited  her  during  the  summer  at 
Tonawanda. 

Maria  could  now  write  letters,  and  their 
correspondence  was  frequent. 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


49 


CHAPTER  HI. 

THE  LOST  FOUND. 

After  Maria  had  been  for  some  weeks  at 
Tonawanda,  the  family  in  which  she  lived 
began  to  question  her  about  her  early  life. 
They  ascertained  that  she  came  from  Sel- 
linge,  Kent  county,  England ;  that  her  grand- 
parents resided  there  when  Maria  left  Eng- 
land, and  that  they  were  then  in  good  cir- 
cumstances. But  five  or  six  years  had  elapsed 
since  she  had  left  them ;  and  she  had  never 
heard  from  them  since,  and  had  no  expecta- 
tion of  hearing. 

Mrs.  M  ,  with  the  fertile  and  practical 

benevolence  of  a  Christian  woman,  conceived 

the  thought  of  writing  to  the  grandparents. 

They  were  perhaps  living  still,  and  might  be 

able  to  do  something  for  Maria.    Mr,  M  

said  it  was  of  no  use ;  the  letter  would  never 

get  there ;  and  if  it  did,  it  would  not  find  her 

grandparents.    They  were  probably  dead. 

That  it  was  a  "woman's  notion"  to  send 
5 


50 


MARIA  CHEESEMAN;  OR, 


across  the  Atlantic  to  find  the  grandmother 
of  a  little  beggar  girl ! 

Mrs.  M  was  not  by  all  this  to  be  de- 
terred from  writing.  It  would  do  no  harm, 
at  any  rate.  So  she  commenced  a  letter  to 
Maria's  grandmother,  giving  a  brief  statement 
of  her  life  in  this  country.  It  seemed  very 
much  like  sending  at  random;  but  Maria 
was  now  anxious  that  it  should  go.  Some 
strange  hope  possessed  the  child  that  good 
would  come  of  it. 

Before  it  was  finished,  it  was  laid  aside  for 

weeks  and  almost  forgotten  by  Mrs.  M  , 

so  faint  were  her  expectations  of  its  being 
of  any  avail.  But  the  child's  hopes  were 
awakened ;  she  could  not  forget  the  unfin- 
ished letter;  perhaps  it  might  reach  her 
grandparents.  So  Mrs.  M   finally  de- 
termined to  finish  and  send  it.  Maria 
added  a  few  lines  to  the  letter,  and'  it  was 
directed  to 

Mr.  Thomas  Cheeseman} 
Sellinge, 

Kent  County, 

England. 

and  posted  with  scarcely  a  reasonable  hope 
that  his  aged  eyes  would  ever  peruse  it.  But 


See!   The  old  man  looks  at  it. 


p.  51. 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


51 


Maria's  dearest  hopes  followed  that  same 
letter.  It  was  the  message  of  a  young,  sigh- 
ing, outcast  orphan  from  the  place  of  her  long 
exile  to  her  early  home — to  the  hearts  that 
loved  her  once.  It  was  committed  to  the 
fickle  ministry  of  the  winds  and  the  waves 
which  wafted  it.  Yet  God,  who  rules  the 
winds  and  the  waves,  took  care  of  the  mes- 
sage. 

The  poor  child  said,  "  I  prayed  every  night 
that  it  might  reach  them,  and  that  they 
might  send  for  me."  We  ought  to  follow 
that  letter  in  its  travels  by  stage-coach,  rail- 
road, through  post-offices,  upon  steamboats, 
along  the  rivers,  over  the  ocean,  through 
England  and  her  great  metropolis,  down 
through  Old  Kent,  until  some  messenger 
takes  it  into  the  farmhouse  of  Mr.  Cheese- 
man,  and  presents  it  to  a  gray-headed  old 
man  in  small-clothes,  with  spectacles  on  his 
nose,  and  an  old  woman  sitting  beside  him. 
See !  the  old  man  looks  at  it,  examines  the 
post-mark  closely:  "Why,  it  is  from  Ame- 
rica !  What  can  it  mean  ?  N~o  one  there 
has  any  business  with  me  !" 

The  thought,  to  be  sure,  darts  through  his 
mind,  that  he  once  had  a  little  grand-daugh- 


52 


MARIA  CHEESEMAN;  OR, 


ter  there  ;  but  she  must  be  dead  long  before 
this. 

From  whom  can  it  be?  It  is  opened  with 
a  trembling  hand.  It  flashes  out  in  the 
first  few  lines  that  Maria  is  living.  His 
whole  frame  trembles.  He  cannot  hold  the 
letter.  "Thank  God!  Thank  God!"  he 
exclaims.  "  She  was  dead  and  is  alive 
again;  she  was  lost  but  is  found."  Now 
the  old  lady  tries  her  skill  at  reading  the 
letter,  and  with  little  better  success ;  but 
amid  sobs  and  tears  at  last  the  whole  truth 
comes  out.  The  child  whom  they  had 
sought  and  prayed  for,  for  years,  and  given 
up  for  lost,  was  whispering  her  sighs  into 
their  ears.  She  was  safe,  and  as  pure  as 
when,  years  ago,  in  her  infancy,  they  had 
given  her  a  farewell  kiss. 

There  was  fervent  thanksgiving  in  that 
farmhouse  that  night.  Mr.  Cheeseman  now 
began  to  make  his  arrangements  to  have 
Maria  brought  home  to  England.  Mrs. 

Cheeseman  answered  Mrs.  M  's  letter, 

and  wrote  to  Maria,  and  the  return  message 
was  committed  to  the  post.  This  letter 
was  longer  in  its  passage  than  it  should 
have  been. 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


53 


While  all  this  was  taking  place  in  Eng- 
land, the  little  candy-girl  was  awaiting,  in 
great  anxiety,  some  news  to  decide  her  fate. 

An  answer  to  her  letter,  if  it  came  at  all, 

should  come  in  less  than  thirty  days  from  the 

time  it  was  sent.    She  says,  "  About  the  time 

we  expected  it,  I  went  down  to  the  post-office 

every  day  when  Mr.  M  did  not  go ;  but 

no  answer  came  in  the  thirty  days.    I  kept 

waiting,  hoping  it  would  come.    I  prayed 

ever  j  night  for  it.    But  it  did  not  come,  and 

I  had  almost  given  up  all  hopes  of  it.  One 

day,  after  school  in  the  afternoon,  I  was  at 

home  with  Willie,  and  Mrs.  M  's  brother 

came  in  and  asked  for  her.    She  was  not  at 

home,  but  he  stayed  about  the  house  until 

about  tea-time,  when  she  came  in ;  and  then 

he  went  up  to  her,  after  she  took  her  bonnet 

oft)  and  looked  very  funny,  and  said, £  Here  is 

something  for  you ;'  and  he  handed  her  a 

letter,  and  at  the  same  time  he  looked  at 

me.    Mrs.  M— —  took  it  and  looked  at  the 

outside,  and  then  said, '  Why,  Maria,  this  is  for 

you/    I  began  to  tremble  a  little,  and  Mrs. 

M  said, 6  Why,  how  red  you  look!'  I  knew 

it  was  from  my  friends.    She  opened  it,  and 

read  it  aloud.    Here  is  what  she  read : 
5* 


54  MARIA  cheeseman;  or, 


Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cheeseman  cannot  find  words  to 

express  their  thankfulness  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  M  , 

for  having  in  part  restored  their  long-lost  grandchild. 
It  is  the  wish  of  us  all  that  you  would  send  her  to 
us,  but  in  doing  so  we  see  the  difficulty.  We  shall 
be  greatly  obliged  to  you,  and  will  repa}T  you,  if  pos- 
sible, for  all  and  every  expense  that  may  be  incurred. 
We  should  prefer  her  being  sent  to  London,  with  an 
advice  from  you  to  that  effect,  and  as  to  a  berth  for 
her,  we  will  leave  to  your  decision. 

We  will  also  thank  you  if  you  will  write  us  the 
name  of  the  vessel  she  may  come  by,  and  also  the 
name  you  enter  her  in.  My  husband  will  remit 
you  the  money  in  whatever  way  you  may  name; 
either  through  our  banker,  who  has  agents  in  Ame- 
rica, or  other  ways  you  may  name. 

With  gratitude,  I  remain  your  obliged 

Maria  Cheeseman. 

Barrow  Hill, 

Sellinge,  near  Ashford, 
Kent,  Old  England. 

Sellinge,  Aug.  1,  1854. 
My  dear  and  long-lost  grand-daughter  :  We  have 
this  day,  July  31st,  received  your  letter;  and  praised 
be  the  Lord,  who  has  so  miraculously  preserved  you 
from  the  dangers  of  the  wicked  world !  And  may 
the  Almighty  Power  send  down  his  blessings  on  those 
benevolent  persons  who  have  thus  far  sheltered  and 
fed  you  !    Your  disposition  will  ever,  I  trust,  lead  you 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


55 


to  pray  for  their  prosperity  in  this  life  and  perfect  hap- 
piness in  that  which  is  to  come,  and  ever  to  look  on 
them  as  the  good  Samaritans.  It  is  the  wish  of  your 
grandfather  that  you  return  to  him,  if  you  like.  He 
has  had  many  sleepless  nights,  not  knowing  where  to 
search  for  you,  having  wrote  several  letters  to  Ame- 
rica, but  none  were  answered.  Your  uncles  and 
aunts  are  all  married  and  have  children.  Mrs.  Pol- 
lard has  often  inquired  after  you,  and  will,  no  doubly 
be  glad  when  I  tell  her  of  your  welfare.  So  we  all 
will :  and  all  desire  our  best  love,  with  a  kiss  of  af- 
fection.     And  believe  me, 

Your  affectionate  grandmother, 

M.  Cheeseman. 

I  am  now  72  years  old. 

God  bless  you ! 

This  was  the  long-expected  letter ;  and  how 
every  word  must  have  thrilled  the  heart  of 
Maria !  Every  painful  doubt  had  now  dis- 
appeared. Not  only  were  her  grandparents 
living,  but  they  still  loved  her,  and  their 
hearts  were  still  open  to  receive  her.  The 
day  after  this  letter  was  received,  she  wrote 
to  Miss  M  ,  in  ]STew  York,  as  follows : 

My  dear  teacher:  I  sit  down  to  thank  you  for 
your  kind  letter.  I  thank  you  for  the  interest  you 
have  taken  in  my  welfare.    I  haven't  missed  but 


56 


MARIA  CHEESEMAN;  OR, 


two  Sabbaths  since  I  commenced  going.  I  often 
think  of  the  Sabbaths  I  spent  in  the  streets  of  New 
York.  I  have  been  to  school  eight  weeks,  and  have 
studied  arithmetic,  geography,  spelling,  and  reading. 
I  have  to-day  received  a  letter  from  my  grandmother, 
that  I  have  written  to  since  I  came  here ;  and  I  hope 
to  see  my  friends  in  England  again.  I  am  fond  of 
Willie,  and  very  well  pleased  with  my  home.  Miss 

C  said  she  would  come  to  see  us,  but  she  has 

not  come  yet.  I  thank  you  for  those  papers  that 
you  offered  to  send  me ;  and  I  would  like  to  hear 
from  you  again.  Sincerely  yours, 

Maria  Cheeseman. 

A  new  world  had  now  dawned  upon  the 
candy-girl.  She  was  to  return  to  England 
as  soon  as  her  grandparents  sent  the  neces- 
sary funds.  But  a  delay  of  some  weeks  was 
occasioned  by  not  receiving  letters  from 
them.    Through  the  letters  of  Maria  and 

Mrs.  M  ,  Mrs.  Cheeseman  had  learned 

of  Maria's  first  teacher,  and  of  her  kindness 
to  the  child ;  and  to  her  Mrs.  Cheeseman 
sent  twenty-five  pounds  (one  hundred  and 
twenty-five  dollars)  to  pay  Maria's  passage 
back  to  England. 

The  money  was  enclosed  in  a  letter,  of 
which  the  following  is  a  copy : 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


57 


N  Sellinge,  Oct,  19,  1854. 

My  dear  and  unknown  friend :  With  this,  I  send 
the  money  whereby  you  will  be  enabled  to  com- 
plete that  work  it  has  pleased  the  all-sufficient  God 
to  inspire  you  to  commence — that  of  restoring  an 
orphan  to  her  relatives  and  home.  Verily,  the  Lord 
omnipotent  reigneth;  and  praised  be  his  holy  name 
for  causing  the  hearts  of  strangers  to  sympathize  for 
an  orphan  and  destitute  child  of  affliction !  We  are 
at  a  loss  to  express  our  thankfulness  for  so  beneficent 
an  act;  and  may  the  Lord  pour  down  his  gracious 
blessing  upon  those  most  truly  Christian  persons 
who  possess  that  virtue  and  charity  which,  we  read, 
survives  the  wreck  of  the  world,  outlives  time  itself, 
and  will  be  forever  the  work  of  the  servants  of  God ! 
I  have  taken  the  liberty  of  sending  the  money  to 
you,  as,  from  the  tenour  of  your  letter,  we  infer  that 

probably  Mr.  and  Mrs.  M  may  have  left  Tona- 

wanda.    Mr.  M          speaks  of  the  great  expense 

they  have  been  put  to  in  clothing  and  getting  the 
dear  girl  to  New  York.  We  are  willing  and  de- 
sirous that  you  should  compensate  them  according  to 
your  idea  of  the  case.  We  wish  to  avoid  all  super- 
fluous expenses,  being  only  in  the  middle  class  of 
society — domestic  farmers )  and  if  you,  dear  madam, 
will  do,  or  cause  to  be  done,  that  of  procuring  a 
berth  in  a  first-class  cabin,  for  Maria's  return  to 
England,  also  to  see  that  she  has  suitable  clothes 
for  her  voyage,  with  sufficient  necessaries  in  the 


58 


MARIA  CHEESEMAN;  OR, 


clothing  department,  and  see  her  on  board,  making 
an  agreement  with  the  captain — a  written  one  is 
the  best — that  there  may  not  be  any  thing  unplea- 
sant when  she  arrives  in  England, — you  will  greatly 
oblige  us.  We  also  shall  be  thankful  if  you  will  write 
us  of  her  departure  from  you,  and  to  what  port  the 
vessel  will  be  bound,  and  the  expected  time  of  her 
arrival  in  England.  We  should  prefer  London;  and 
should  you,  dear  madam,  at  any  time,  visit  England, 
I  should  be  proud  to  receive  you  at  our  domestic 
home,  Barrow  Hill  Farm,  Sellinge,  near  Ashford, 
Kent — distant  from  London  seventy-two  miles,  and 
close  to  the  Westernhanger  and  Wyth  station, 
South-Eastern  Railway. 

The  cause  of  my  delay  in  writing  has  been  that  we 
have  not  been  able  to  get  an  order  to  have  the  money 
transferred  to  you — there  are  so  many  difficulties 
which  we  were  not  aware  of — and  we  could  not  get 
any  information  in  London  what  the  expenses  were 
likely  to  be  from  x\merica.  There  does  not  appear 
to  be  any  specific  terms ;  but  the  bargain  must  be 
made,  in  the  best  manner  possible,  with  the  captain. 
The  expenditure  of  the  money  we  leave  to  you;  and 

should  Mr.  M  accompany  her  to  New  York,  of 

course  you  will  be  pleased  to  remunerate  him  accord- 
ing to  your  ideas;  and  should  the  sum  sent  be  not 
sufficient,  we  will  remit  you  more.  We  have  friends 
in  New  York.  (This  letter  states  their  address  and 
residence.)  If  you,  doubting  our  veracity,  will  take 


TIIE  CANDY-GIRL. 


59 


the  trouble  to  inquire,  they  will  satisfy  you  of  our 
responsibility.  This  gentleman  saw  Maria  at  our 
request,  but,  most  probably,  was  at  a  loss  how  to  get 
possession  of  her,  although  his  heart  yearned  to  do 
so.  After  her  dear  mother's  death,  we  lost  sight  of 
her  altogether :  and  we  knew  that  her  step-father 
had  deserted  her.  We  have  very  many  good  insti- 
tutions in  England — London  particularly.  Your's 
is  called  the  Home  of  the  Friendless,  our's  the 
Orphan  Asylum.  To  you,  my  dear  madam,  we 
beg  our  best  thanks,  best  regards;  and  to  Mr.  and 

Mrs.  M          our  thankfulness  for  all  their  kind 

exertions;  and  to  dear  Maria  my  best  love,  with  a 
hope  she  will  have  a  pleasant  voyage. 
Your's  respectfully, 

Maria  Cheeseman. 

This  letter  arrived  in  the  early  part  of 
November.  It  was  not  convenient  to  bring 
Maria  at  once  to  New  York,  and  she  re- 
mained at  Tonawanda  until  the  first  of  the 
following  January,  when  she  was  brought 
to  New  York  by  the  ladies  of  the  Home  for 
the  Friendless,  who  were  her  legal  guardians. 

Here  she  became  the  guest  of  Miss  M  , 

who  held  the  funds  to  pay  her  outfit  and 
passage  back  to  England.  She  was  so 
changed  when  she  returned,  that  her  friends 
hardly  knew  her.    She  had  become  fair  and 


60 


MARIA  CHEESEMAN;  OR, 


ruddy,  and  that  careworn,  old  look  which 
she  once  had,  had  given  way  to  a  happy, 
childlike  face.  She  had  become  stout  and 
strong.  Her  friends  in  New  York  desired 
she  should  sail  in  a  London  packet  in  the 
first  wreek  in  January.  But  it  became  neces- 
sary to  prepare  her  some  clothing ;  and  now 
Maria,  for  the  first  time,  began  to  see  New 
York  as  it  is. 

Heretofore  she  had  only  been  a  streets 
girl,  carrying  her  basket  from  her  home  to 
the  Park.  Never  had  she  been  within  a 
respectable  house  or  among  respectable 
people.    Now  she  went  shopping  with  Miss 

M  .   But  her  small  purchases  were  soon 

made.    Miss  M         and  Maria  were  very 

busy  during  the  whole  of  the  first  week  in 
January  in  making  up  her  clothing;  and 
Maria  worked  from  morning  till  night. 
She  sewed  with  great  facility,  and  better 
than  most  young  girls ;  for  she  had  had  a 
long  apprenticeship  in  the  art  of  making 
shirts  for  old  Mrs.  Dougherty,  during  the  long 
winter  evenings  in  the  garret. 

But  the  ship  "  American  Congress,"  in 
which  she  was  to  sail,  was  detained  from 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


61 


day  to  day  until  Friday  the  12th.  This 
delay  was  trying  to  Maria's  patience,  for 
she  was  a  good  deal  excited,  and  very  de- 
sirous to  depart;  and  it  wTas  now  nearly 
four  months  since  she  had  heard  the  call  of 
her  aged  grandparents  to  her  to  return. 
During  the  last  week  of  her  stay  in  New 
York,  she  visited  different  parts  of  the  city. 
She  never  had  been  above  Chambers  Street, 
during  the  years  she  was  in  New  York, 

until  Mr.  C          and  the  policeman  took 

her.  She  was  always  obliged  to  work,  so 
that  she  could  not  go ;  and  she  had  never 
seen  any  park  in  New  York  but  the  City 
Hall  Park. 

On  the  second  Sabbath  of  January,  she 
paid  a  visit  to  the  Reade  Street  Sunday- 
school.  It  was  just  one  year  since  she  first 
went  there — an  eventful  year  to  her.  She 
also  paid  a  visit  to  the  Roosevelt  School ; 
and,  on  her  way  back,  she  went  with  her 
teacher  to  the  old  room  in  the  garret,  where 
she  so  long  lived  with  Mrs.  Dougherty.  A 
neighbour,  and  one  of  her  early  friends,  told 
her  the  old  woman  died  during  the  summer, 
and  that  she  had  money  in  the  bank,  which 
her  son  had  taken  out  and  squandered.  He 


62 


MARIA  CHEESEMAN;  OR, 


said  he  was  very  glad  Maria  had  found  her 
friends. 

Here  she  was  again,  in  the  garret  where 
she  had  passed  so  many  years  of  sorrow — 
where  she  had  been  whipped  and  abused — 
where  she  had  worked  so  hard  during  the 
winter  evenings — where  she  had  prayed  for 
deliverance — and  wThere  she  never  heard  a 
kind  word.  It  was  all  over  now,  and  it 
seemed  like  a  dream. 

Some  of  our  inquisitive  young  readers 
may  be  inclined  to  ask,  Who  is  this  little  can- 
dy-girl of  whom  you  are  telling  us  ?  Where 
did  she  come  from?  What  was  her  early 
life  ?  Why  do  you  begin  in  the  middle  to 
tell  a  story  ?  Why  not  begin  at  the  begin- 
ning? 

We  answer  that  we  are  not  making  a  story, 
but  relating  facts ;  that  every  incident,  even 
the  most  trifling,  in  this  simple  narrative,  is 
true.  It  is  written  that  it  may  awaken  an 
interest  in  hundreds  and  thousands  of  cases 
of  poor,  labouring,  suffering,  yet  deserving 
children,  whom  we  daily  meet  in  our  walks 
through  this  city.  We  introduce  our  little 
candy-girl  as  we  found  her  toiling  through 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


63 


the  streets  of  New  York,  seven  days  in  the 
week,  painfully  earning  her  subsistence. 

During  the  last  few  days  of  her  stay  in 
New  York  the  incidents  of  her  early  life 
were  drawn  out.  We  must  allow  her  to  tell 
her  history  in  her  own  way.  We  feel  certain 
that  all  she  said  is  true.  There  was  a  can- 
dour and  diffidence  about  her  statements 
which  could  not  fail  to  awaken  the  fullest 
confidence.  Although  she  spoke  of  things 
which  seemed  at  first  almost  to  have  faded 
from  her  memory,  yet  there  was  intelligence 
and  •coherence  in  her  statements.  She  must 
now  be  her  own  historian. 


64 


MARIA  CHEESEMAN;  OR, 


CHAPTER  IV. 

maria's  story. 

"  Since  T  came  to  America,  I  have  been 
sick  so  much,  and  worked  so  hard,  and  been 
scolded  at  so  much,  that  I  have  kind  of  for- 
gotten almost  all  I  used  to  do  and  all  I 
learned. 

"  My  father  died  when  I  was  a  few  days 
old,  as  I  have  heard  my  mother  say.  My 
mother  was  the  daughter  of  Mr.  Cheeseman, 
who  lived  at  Sellinge,  Kent  county,  England. 

"I  had  a  twin-brother.  His  name  was 
John.  The  first  that  I  can  remember  is,  that 
I  and  my  brother  John  were  living  with  an 
aunt — a  sister  of  my  mother — at  a  place  in 
Sussex,  called  Lewes.  I  guess  I  was  then 
about  five*or  six  years  old.  My  mother  did 
not  live  with  us,  then.  She  had  gone  to  be  a 
ladies'  maid  in  a  family  by  the  name  of  Lloyd. 
This  family  were  rich  people,  and  went  to 
iive  in  Ireland  in  the  summer,  but  lived  in 
Brighton,  near  London,  in  the  winter." 

"Did  you  go  to  school  at  Lewes ?" 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


65 


"  Oil  yes ;  I  went  to  school  every  day,  to  a 
Miss  Dalton.  I  was  learning  to  read  and 
write  at  her  school.  Write — yon  know — lines 
in  books.  It  was  rather  queer  writing,  I 
guess.  Johnny  did  not  go  to  the  same  school 
with  me.  I  remember  he  was  pale  and  had 
something  the  matter  with  his  head.  And 
the  boys  used  to  trouble  him ;  so  my  aunt 
sent  him  to  a  smaller  school.  Lewes  was  a 
large  place.  I  believe  there  was  a  wide  street 
with  large  houses  and  trees  on  each  side." 

"Did  you  ever  go  to  a  Sunday-school 
there?" 

"  Oh  yes.  I  went  every  Sunday,  and  had 
the  same  teacher  as  we  had  in  the  day-school. 
We  used  to  go  to  church,  too.  It  was  called 
or  sounded  like  <  All  Saints/  My  mother 
used  to  come  often  from  Brighton  to  see  us, 
and  we  were  happy  then,  I  suppose. 

"The  next  I  remember  is,  that  my  aunt 
took  me  to  Sellinge,  in  Kent,  near  Ashford, 
but  my  brother  remained  at  Lewes  with  my 
aunt.  I  remember  we  went  on  a  railroad. 
My  grandfather,  Thomas  Cheeseman,  and  his 
wife,  Maria  Cheeseman,  lived  there.  My 
grandfather  was  a  farmer ;  I  know  I  felt  glad 
to  go  to  my  grandmother,  for  she  was  well 


66 


MARIA  CHEESEMAN;  OR, 


off ,  and  I  liked  to  go  to  the  country,  it  was 
so  pleasant,  and  my  grandmother  was  kind 
to  me.  I  remember  there  was  a  high  hill,  a 
little  way  from  the  house,  called  Barrow  Hill. 
But  the  house  was  on  a  level  street,  all  sur- 
rounded by  flat,  green  meadows.  It  was  a 
square  white  house,  two  stories  high.  I  don't 
know  whether  it  was  brick  or  wood.  I  re- 
member, when  we  walked  heavy  on  the  floors, 
they  would  kind  of  shake.  Over  the  street 
door  there  was  a  porch ;  and  honeysuckles 
and  some  other  flowers  and  vines  used  to  run 
all  over  it,  and  hang  down  all  round  it.  The 
house  had  five  rooms  in  it.  They  were  on 
each  side  of  a  hall ;  and  there  was  behind  the 
house,  two  or  three  steps  going  down,  a  little 
brick  wash-house,  we  called  it. 

There  was  a  flower-garden  in  front  of  the 
house,  full  of  vines  and  flowers,  which  my 
grandmother  and  I  used  to  take  care  o£ 
And  at  the  side  of  the  house  there  was  a 
vegetable-garden,  and  fruit-trees.  We  had 
two  peach-trees,  but  not  so  many  peaches 
as  we  have  here.  We  had  strawberries, 
raspberries,  gooseberries,  currants,  cherries; 
and  we  had  one  fig-tree.  There  were 
smooth  meadows  of  grass,  back  of  the 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


67 


house,  and  there  were  sheep  in  it.  There 
was  a  brook  running  through  the  meadows, 
which  they  called  the  river.  All  along  the 
river  there  were  trees,  and  willows  which 
hung  down  over  the  water. 

"My  grandfather  used  to  raise  a  good  many 
hops  and  vegetables  for  market,  which  they 
sold  at  Ashford.  Some  of  my  uncles  lived 
with  my  grandfather,  and  helped  him.  I 
remember  my  grandfather.  He  was  rather 
a  short  man  and  stout,  with  grayish  hair, 
and  always  looked  very  kind.  It  was  spring, 
I  know,  when  I  went  to  live  with  my  grand- 
mother, for,  I  remember,  she  sent  me  out 
to  pick  primroses  and  other  flowers — I  can't 
think  of  all  the  names.  I  used  to  pick  them 
every  morning,  and  put  them  in  flower-pots 
on  the  mantel-piece  in  the  parlour.  I  used 
to  love  the  flowers,  they  were  so  sweet  and 
pretty ;  and  we  always  had  them  around  in 
the  room. 

"  I  think  I  lived  here  with  my  grandmother 
about  two  years.  She  was  very  kind  to  me. 
I  did  not  go  to  school,  but  she  taught  me 
every  day  in  the  forenoon.  She  used  to  give 
lessons  in  reading.  They  were  pretty  hard. 
She  would  not  tell  me  one  of  the  words,  but 


68 


MARIA  CHEESEMAK;  OR, 


made  nae  find  theni  out  by  saying  the  letters- 
over." 

"  Yon  mean  spelling  out  the  words." 
"Yes,  sir." 

"  Why,  did  you  think  that  hard  ?" 

"It  seemed  pretty  hard  to  me  then — I  was 
so  little.  After  a  while,  I  used  to  cypher,  too  ; 
and  I  wrote  in  a  book,  every  day,  two  of  those 
things — I  forget  what  you  call  them." 

"  You  mean  copies,  don't  you  ?" 

"Yes,  sir,  that's  it — lines  on  the  top  to 
write  after.  I  used  to  get  all  these  lessons 
in  the  forenoon,  and  recite  to  my  grandmo- 
ther in  the  afternoon.  I  sewed  a  part  of  the 
time,  and  then  went  out  to  play  in  the  yard 
or  in  the  meadow  where  the  sheep  were.  I 
recollect  I  used  to  play  with  one  little  girl — 
I  don't  remember  her  name  ; — but  she  used 
to  come  very  often  in  the  afternoon,  and  we 
would  go  into  the  meadows  and  get  butter- 
cups and  daisies.  They  used  to  grow  there 
all  around  the  fields.  Sometimes  we  would 
go  along  by  the  river,  but  we  were  pretty 
careful  not  to  go  too  near,  for  we  might  fall 
in.  Sometimes  we  went  up  on  the  hill 
where  my  grandfather  had  a  hop-garden, 
and  got  some  kind  of  grass  which  grew 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


69 


there.  It  was  glossy,  and  would  be  shaking 
all  the  time,  and  looked  very  pretty.  They 
called  it,  there,  toddle-grass,  or  something 
like  that.  My  grandmother  used  to  put  it 
in  glasses  on  the  mantel-piece;  and  she 
very  often  sent  me  for  it  My  grandfather 
raised  a  good  many  hops,  which  he  sold.  I 
used  to  like  living  there — every  thing  looked 
so  pretty  in  the  country." 

Thus  this  little  child — so  soon  to  be  a 
wanderer  and  anx outcast  in  a  foreign  land, 
and  in  the  midst  of  a  great  city— was  gain- 
ing pure  and  elevating  impressions  of  the 
glorious  works  of  the  Creator.  A  love  of 
the  beautiful  was  here  implanted  in  her 
mind,  and  nature  was  painting  most  charm- 
ing scenes  on  her  memory,  which  were, 
in  after  years,  to  be  a  solace  to  her. 
What,  beside  religion,  so  elevates  the  soul, 
awakens  and  cherishes  pure  and  noble 
thoughts,  as  the  contemplation  of  nature  in 
her  rural  beauty,  grandeur,  and  sublimity  ? 
This  influence  could  be  plainly  traced  on 
the  mind  of  this  child. 

Happy  they  whose  early  associations  are 
with  the  country  scenes — who  in  childhood 
loved 


70  MARIA  cheeseman;  or, 


"  The  rocks  and  rills, 
The  woods  and  lofty  hills." 

But  we  must  let  Maria  proceed  in  her 
answers  to  the  numerous  questions  which 
were  put  to  her,  and  which  awakened  all  her 
latent  memories  of  early  clays.  As  she  called 
to  mind  these  scenes,  the  pictures  would 
come  up  fresh  and  new  to  her  recollection, 
and  spread  a  glow  of  sunshine  over  her  face. 

"  My  grandmother  taught  me  to  pray 
every  night  when  I  went  to  bed.  She 
sometimes  took  me  up  stairs  to  bed,  and 
sometimes  my  aunt  did.  But  I  always 
kneeled  down  at  the  foot  of  the  bed  and 
said  the  Lord's  prayer.  She  taught  me 
another  prayer,  but  I  have  forgotten  it, — I 
have  been  sick  so  much  in  the  hospital 
since  I  came  to  this  country  !  But  I  never 
forgot  the  Lord's  prayer;  and  I  have  always 
said  it  at  night,  while  I  lived  wTith  Mrs, 
Dougherty,  but  not  in  the  morning,  for  she 
would  not  give  me  time  to  say  it.  When  we 
got  up  in  the  morning,  we  did  not  all  say 
our  prayers  together,  as  you  do  here  ;  but 
each  one  said  their  prayers  in  their  own  room. 
But  we  used  to  read  the  Bible  together. 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


71 


"I  had  a  book  my  grandmother  gave  me, 
with  a  black  cover,  which  I  studied  and  read, 
and  which  had  something  for  every  day  in 
the  year  in  it ;  I  think  they  called  it  6  col- 
lect,' or  some  such  name.  I  used  to  take 
it  to  church  with  me.  I  kept  this  book 
until  I  came  to  this  country,  when  it  was 
sold  by  my  step-father,  with  all  my  other 
things.  I  always  went  to  church.  My 
grandmother  went  only  in  the  morning. 

"  I  used  to  learn  a  good  many  hymns ;  but 
I  have  forgotten  them — it  was  so  long  ago. 
I  have  heard  them  sing  one  here,  in  the  Sun- 
day-school, which  I  used  to  know,  but  I  can't 
remember  it  now." 

"  Can't  you  remember  any  of  the  words  ?" 

"Well,  there  was  something  about 
6  bursting  bonds,'  or  '  chains.'*    My  grand- 

*  Reference  is  probably  made  to  Dr.  Watts's  version  of 
the  seventeenth  psalm, — so  familiar  in  onr  religious  assem- 
blies.   The  original  version  begins  with  the  line, 

"  Lord,  I  am  thine,  but  thou  wilt  prove,"  &e. 

In  several  of  our  American  collections,  the  first  two  verses 
are  omitted,  and  the  first  line  of  the  third  verse  is, 

"What  sinners  value,  I  resign;" 

and  the  last  verse,  and  that  which  seems  to  have  made  the 
deepest  impression  on  Maria's  mind,  is — 

4<  My  flesh  shall  slumber  in  the  ground 
Till  the  last  trumpet's  joyful  sound; 
Then  burst  the  chains  with  sweet  surprise, 
And  in  my  Saviour's  image  rise.'* 


72  MARIA  cheeseman;  or, 


mother  used  to  go  often  to  Ashford  to  mar- 
ket, and  then  she  would  bring  me  home 
some  nice  things.  She  once  bought  me  a 
wax  doll,  and  I  kept  it  till  some  one  on 
the  ship,  when  I  came  over,  sat  on  it 
and  crushed  it.  At  another  time,  she 
bought  me  a  Bible  and  some  nice  books. 
She  once  bought  me  a  drawing-book,  for 
drawing  pictures  of  birds  and  such  things ; 
and  I  could  draw  a  good  many  pictures 
on  it. 

"  My  mother  bought  me  a  work-box,  once, 
which  I  liked  very  much.  All  these  things 
I  kept  until  I  got  to  America,  but  they  all 
went,  with  the  rest  of  my  things,  after  my 
mother  died.  I  felt  the  worst  about  losing 
my  drawing-slate  and  my  Bible. 

"  My  grandmother  taught  me  to  sew  marks 
on  samplers, — you  know, — mark  letters  and 
names;  and,  just  in  the  way  as  they  make 
book-marks,  I  could  make  a  butterfly,  and 
birds  in  a  cage,  and  other  things.  I  had  a 
large  sampler  full  of  such  marks.  This  was 
sold  too,  with  my  other  things." 

So  pleasantly  passed  the  spring-time  of 
Maria's  life — that  happy  period  of  child- 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


7S 


hood  when  all  is  joy  and  sunshine  and 
hope.  How  tenderly  she  was  nurtured  and 
taught  by  parental  affection  ! 

The  genial  influence  of  love,  descending 
like  dew  upon  her  childlike  heart,  awakened 
all  the  gentler  sympathies  of  her  sex  and  of 
her  nature.  She  was  dependent,  confiding, 
full  of  affection  and  responsive  sympathies 
— delicate  plants  of  early  blossom  found  in 
the  heart  of  the  gently-nurtured,  and  there 
so  beautiful  to  behold.  How  terrible  to  see 
them  wither  before  the  chilling  winds  of 
adversity,  neglect  and  want ! 

It  is  easy,  from  these  few  gleanings  of 
Maria's  personal  history,  to  obtain  a  correct 
delineation  of  her  character. 

She  was  an  amiable,  affectionate,  and  con- 
fiding child.  She  had  a  happy  home  in  old 
England,  a  beautiful  home — a  home  of  plenty 
— a  home  in  the  hearts  of  those  who  loved 
her.  The  flowers  were  her  companions. 
She  saw  the  sunset,  and  the  painted  clouds, 
and  the  green  fields,  and  the  flowing  river, 
and  she  loved  them  all.  All  these  sacred 
influences  of  home  and  of  nature  were  ele- 
vating to  her  thoughts,  and  awakened  a 
!ove  for  the  pure,  the  beautiful,. and  the  true*. 


74 


MARIA  CHEESEMAN;  OR, 


Thus  was  a  kind  Providence  fortifying  her 
young  heart  for  the  trials  and  temptations 
through  which  she  was  soon  to  pass. 

But  the  most  effectual  panoply  for  this 
little  pilgrim  will  be  found  in  her  Christian 
nurture.  She  was  taught  to  pray — to  go  to 
Christ  with  her  sorrows.  "  She  never  for- 
got to  pray !" 

This  is  always  a  beautiful  sight — a  child 
kneeling  by  its  mother  in  prayer  to  the 
Almighty.  But  oh !  how  touching  is  it  to 
see  a  little  orphan,  through  the  whole  course 
•of  her  wanderings,  every  night  lifting  up 
her  feeble  voice  in  prayer  to  the  God  of  the 
fatherless!  See  her  aloue  in  that  emigrant 
hospital,  surrounded  by  the  sick  and  dying, 
stretched  on  a  bed  of  sickness,  offering  up 
in  the  darkness  her  simple  prayer.  See  her 
in  that  dark  cellar — fatherless,  motherless, 
brotherless — pouring  out  her  sorrows  from 
that  miserable  pallet.  Hear  her  prayer  in 
that  miserable  garret,  stretching  her  weary, 
half-frozen  limbs  to  rest  after  the  toil  of  a 
wintry  day.  From  that  young  heart  there 
went  up  the  prayer,  every  night,  "  Lead  as 
not  into  temptation;  but  deliver  us  from 
*evil."    And  does  He  listen  ?    Was  Tie  there 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


75 


in  the  hospital — the  cellar — the  garret — to 
hear  the  cry  of  this  little  one?  Does  He 
who  listens  to  the  choirs  of  heaven, — that 
innumerable  throng  of  saints  and  angels, — 
does  he  hear  thy  voice,  little  orphan  child  ? 
Yes,  he  hears  thy  feeble  cry  in  heaven,  his 
holy  dwelling-place.  He  bends  his  ear  over 
thy  suffering  couch,  and  catches  the  faintest 
accents  of  thy  lips.  He  whispers  in  thine 
ear,  "  I  will  never  leave  thee  nor  forsake 
thee/'  "  When  thy  father  and  mother  for- 
sake thee,  then  the  Lord  will  take  thee  up." 
"  He  will  preserve  thee  from  all  evil."  "  He 
will  preserve  thy  soul." 
-  Let  no  Christian  parent  or  teacher  think 
it  of  little  consequence  to  teach  a  little  child 
to  pray.  It  keeps  the  Saviour  before  the 
soul.  It  awakens  a  thousand  tender  emo- 
tions, and  early  associations  of  a  mother,  of  a 
home,  of  days  of  innocence,  which  may  lead 
to  convictions  of  sin,  and,  by  the  aid  of  the 
Holy  Spirit,  to  true  repentance. 

Many  a  hardened  sinner  has  wept  to 
think  of  the  time  when  he  used  to  kneel  by 
his  mother's  knees  and  say  his  prayers.  He 
feels  again  her  soft  hand  upon  his  head,  her 
kiss  upon  his  brow,  and  perhaps  her  warm 


76 


MARIA  CHEESEMAN;  OR, 


tears  upon  his  cheek.  Though  she  is  a 
saint  in  heaven,  her  presence  seems  to  be 
with  him  again,  pleading  with  him  to  make 
her  God  his  God.  Blessed  is  the  memory 
of  the  man,  though  unknown  'to  fame,  who 
wrote  that  little  child's  prayer — 

"  Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep, 
I  pray  the  Lord  my  soul  to  keep  ; 
If  I  should  die  before  I  wake, 
I  pray  the  Lord  my  soul  to  take." 

How  many  thousands  and  tens  of  thou- 
sands of  little  children  have,  at  their  mothers' 
knees,  uttered  this  prayer,  and  in  its  simple 
language  first  learned  to  speak  to  their  Lord, 
and  to  trust  in  their  God !  How  many  mil- 
lions, to  the  end  of  time,  will  begin  their 
communion  with  heaven  with  this  simple 
petition !  How  often  has  it  been  uttered 
with  earnestness  and  faith,  and  been  heard 
and  answered  in  heaven  ! 

Prayer  is  the  language  of  children.  Blessed 
be  our  most  holy  Saviour,  who  has  taught  us 
all  to  pray  as  children,  and  put  into  our 
mouths  those  sweet  words :  "  Our  Father, 
who  art  in  heaven. "  Blessed  be  God,  who 
has  allowed  us  this  solace  in  our  pilgrimage, 
this  glimpse  of  the  heavenly  fields  from  the 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


77 


sorrowful  vales  of  this  life — this  ascending 
of  the  human  soul,  burdened  with  its  joys 
and  thanksgiving,  its  fears,  sorrows,  and  de- 
sires, to  its  reconciled  God,  to  return  again 
— baptized  in- the  light  of  heaven — laden  with 
hope,  courage,  confidence,  and  love.  Such 
is  the  privilege  of  prayer — heaven's  boon  to 
mortals,  most  largely  vouchsafed  to  the  lowly, 
the  suffering,  and  the  contrite. 


7* 


78 


MARIA  CHEESEMAN;  OR, 


CHAPTER  V.* 

THE  FAREWELL. 

Maria  had  spent  two  happy  years  with  her 
grandmother  on  the  farm,  and,  according  to 
her  recollection,  she  was  then  about  eight 
years  old.    She  says : 

"I  think  it  was  in  the  spring,  my  mother 
married  a  man  by  the  name  of  Golden,  who 
was  a  coachman  in  the  same  family  where 
my  mother  was  lady's-maid.  My  mother 
sent  word  to  my  grandmother,  very  soon 
after  she  wras  married,  that  she  was  going  to 
America;  and  that  she  wished  to  take  me 
and  Johnny,  who  was  living  at  Lewes,  with 
my  aunt.  I  felt  very  sorry  to  leave  my  grand- 
mother, but  I  had  to  go  with  my  mother.  I 
loved  my  mother,  and  always  wanted  to  live 
with  her ;  and  this  made  me  more  willing  to 
go:  and  everybody  then  thought  it  was  such 
a  fine  thing  to  go  to  America.  They  said 
we  should  have  every  thing  we  wanted,  and 
be  better  off  there,  and  that  there  were  no 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


79 


poor  people  there.  I  thought  we  should 
have  a  nice  house  to  live  in,  in  the  country, 
when  we  got  there ;  and  that  I  should  Jive 
with  my  mother  and  Johnny,  and  I  thought 
this  would  be  very  pleasant. 

"My  grandmother  made  me  up  a  good 
many  clothes — some  nice  ones — a  trunk  full. 
I  had  a  Bible  and  some  nice  books,  my  dolls 
and  playthings,  my  work-box  and  drawing- 
slate.  We  were  to  meet  my  mother  and  my 
brother  in  London,  and  start  together. 

"My  grandmother  and  aunt  took  me  to 
London.  I  remember  we  went  by  a  rail- 
road, and  there  we  found  my  brother,  with 
another  aunt,  who  had  come  up  from  Sussex 
with  him.  We  were  to  meet  my  mother 
there  the  same  day,  but  she  did  not  come. 
We  looked  about  London  all  day  for  her, 
but  could  not  find  her.  We  stayed  with  a 
friend  of  my  grandmother's  there  two  days 
before  she  came. 

"At  last  my  mother  came  with  my  step- 
father. I  had  never  seen  him  before.  He 
took  my  mother  and  John  and  me  to  a 
boarding-house  one  night.  My  grandmother 
did  not  like  my  step-father  because  he  got 
drunk  the  first  night  he  was  there.  My 


80 


MARIA  CHEESEMAN  ;  OR, 


mother  felt  badly,  and  cried  all  night.  But 
he  tried  to  make  me  like  him,  for  the  first 
afternoon  he  came,  he  went  out  and  brought 
Johnny  and  me  some  cakes. 

"The  next  day  we  went  in  the  cars  to 
Liverpool.  My  grandmother  was  sorry  for 
me  to  go.  She  kissed  me  good-by,  and  then 
stood  and  looked  at  us  till  the  cars  were  out 
of  sight  of  her.  I  felt  very  badly  to  leave  my 
grandmother,  for  she  was  always  good  to  me, 
and  I  did  not  like  my  step-father. 

"I  don't  remember  much  of  the  journey 
to  Liverpool ;  but  when  we  came  there,  the 
ship  we  were  going  in  had  sailed,  and  we 
had  to  wait  for  another,  which  was  going  in 
about  a  week.  We  stayed  in  a  boarding-house 
during  this  week.  I  was  not  much  home-sick 
then,  for  we  were  most  of  the  time  going 
about  the  docks  seeing  the  ships.  I  had 
never  seen  a  ship  before,  and  I  did  not  know 
what  to  make  of  them  at  first,  they  looked 
so  strange.  We  sailed  in  the  ship  Catharine 
from  Liverpool  to  New  York.  I  think  we 
must  have  sailed  in  the  spring,  early,  and  I 
think  it  was  about  five  or  six  years  ago. 

"We  had  a  good  many  things  with  us. 
My  mother  had  a  great  many  clothes  in  her 


THE  CANDY-GIRL.  81 

trunks,  a  gold  watch,  and  some  jewelry  and 
books.  I  don't  remember  very  much  about 
the  voyage.  I  was  sick  for  the  first  week, 
and  I  longed  to  go  back  to  England,  but 
every  one  else  wanted  to  get  to  New  York. 
They  thought  when  they  once  got  there  they 
should  have  no  more  trouble.  They  thought 
it  the  finest  place  in  the  world ;  and  they 
kept  talking  about  getting  to  New  York  all 
the  time.  They  said  they  wanted  to  see  what 
kind  of  people  the  Yankees  were.  They 
thought  them  very  droll  people. 

"  We  were  six  weeks  and  three  days  on  the 
passage,  and  we  were  all  tired,  and  wanted  to 
get  to  land.  When  we  came  near  to  the  har- 
bour of  New  York,  I  remember  a  pilot  came 
on  board,  and  the  people  said  he  was  a  Yan- 
kee, and  I  ran  and  told  my  mother  I  had  seen 
a  Yankee.  But  I  didn't  see  that  he  was  very 
different  from  other  people.  When  we  came  up 
the  harbour,  I  remember  it  was  dreadful  hot. 

"  When  we  got  to  the  dock,  we  saw  all 
sorts  of  people  crowding  around,  and  they 
asked  us  to  go  to  their  boarding-house.  The 
cook  on  board  the  ship  had  given  us  a  card 
to  a  boarding-house,  and  we  agreed  to  go 
where  he  told  us.  We  found  the  people  ready 


82 


MARIA  CHEESEMAN;  OR, 


to  take  our  baggage  on  the  wharf,  and  we 
supposed  we  were  going  to  a  nice  place.  We 
landed  in  South  Street,  I  think,  somewhere 
near  Beekman  Street,  and  we  went  not  far 
to  the  boarding-house,  which  was  in  Cherry 
Street.  It  was  not  a  good  place,  and  mother 
did  not  like  it.  After  they  got  us  there  they 
charged  very  high — a  shilling  a  meal  for  each 
of  us.  They  sold  liquor  there  all  the  time, 
and  played  cards  all  night  in  the  bar-room. 
We  had  one  room  by  ourselves  up-stairs ;  but 
my  step-father  stayed  down  in  the  bar-room 
till  late  at  night,  and  sometimes  all  night — 
drinking  and  playing  cards.  My  mother 
could  not  get  him  up  to  her  room.  Some- 
times he  would  not  come  up  for  the  whole 
day  and  night.  He  got  drunk  almost  every 
day,  and  they  soon  got  all  his  money  away 
from  him,  but  mother  had  some  little  money 
besides. 

"  My  mother  did  not  like  the  place,  and 
she  tried  to  get  away.  She  felt  very  badly 
and  cried  sometimes,  and  said  she  was  sorry 
she  had  ever  left  England.  After  staying 
in  the  boarding-house  a  week  or  two,  she 
persuaded  my  step-father  to  go  out  and  hire 
rooms,  for  she  wanted  to  get  away.  He 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


83 


went  out,  and  after  a  while  came  back  and 
said  he  had  got  a  nice  place.  "We  thought 
it  must  be  a  nice  house  ;  so  we  went  to  see  it. 
It  was  at  No.  — ,  Cherry  Street.  We  thought 
it  would  be  some  light  upper  rooms,  and  very 
pleasant ;  but  when  we  got  there,  mother  was 
disappointed  to  find  that  he  had  hired  two 
rooms  down  in  a  basement,  (we  call  them 
cellars  in  England,)  where  it  was  dark  and 
did  not  look  pleasant.  I  never  saw  such  a 
place  to  live  in  before.  We  did  not  want 
to  go  there,  but  mother  could  not  help  it,  for 
she  had  but  little  money,  and  she  wanted. to 
get  away  from  the  boarding-house.  So  we 
moved  all  our  things  there,  and  began  to 
keep  house. 

"  There  was  a  store  over  our  rooms.  The 
steps  down  from  the  street  were  steep.  My 
mother  always  looked  sad  and  unhappy  after 
this.  She  did  not  tell  me  much  about  her 
feelings ;  but  I  could  see  she  felt  badly,  for 
she  had  not  been  used  to  living  so,  and  she 
did  not  expect  to  live  so  when  she  got  to 
America.  And  my  step-father  was  away 
almost  all  the  time,  drinking  in  the  shops 
and  stores.  He  said  he  tried  to  find  work, 
but  could  not  get  it.    He  soon  went  to 


84 


MARIA  CHEESEMAN;  OR, 


Philaclelpliia  to  get  work ;  and  after  lie  had 
been  there  some  time,  he  wrote  to  my  mo- 
ther that  he  could  not  get  work,  and  that  he 
wanted  her  to  send  him  some  *money.  But 
she  had  no  money  to  send  him ;  for  she 
needed  all  the  money  for  ourselves. 

"My mother  had  to  work  hard  to  get  enough 
to  live  on  and  pay  the  rent.  She  got  caps  to 
make  of  a  Jew  in  Mott  Street,  and  I  used  to 
go  up  after  them  for  my  mother.  She  worked 
very  hard,  but  she  was  sick,  and  looked  pale 
and  thin.  And  my  brother  Johnny  was  always 
sick  after  we  came  to  the  basement.  His 
legs  swelled  badly  in  the  hot  weather,  and 
he  hardly  could  stand  on  them.  He  used  to 
be  sulky,  and  go  up  and  sit  on  the  steps  of 
the  store  in  the  sun.  Sometimes  the  man  in 
the  store  would  not  let  him  stay  there,  and 
would  drive  him  down  into  the  basement 
During  this  summer  my  mother  kept  getting 
worse,  and  she  was  not  able  to  earn  so  much 
by  sewing  as  before. 

"  My  step-father  did  not  do  any  thing  to 
help  her.  He  came  back  from  Philadelphia 
in  a  few  weeks ;  but  he  spent  most  of  his 
time  away  from  home,  in  the  stores  and 
drinking  shops  around  there.    My  mother 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


85 


had  to  earn  all  the  money  to  support  lis ; 
when  her  money  was  gone,  she  began  to 
pawn  her  best  things.  She  pawned  her 
watch,  and  then  a  plaid  dress,  then  a  scarf, 
then  a  satin  scarf  and  shawl,  and  almost  all 
her  nice  clothes,  until  almost  every  thing 
she  had  was  gone.  She  expected  to  get 
them  out  again  when  she  got  money ;  but 
she  never  got  them  back.  She  had  a  few 
nice  things  which  she  djd  not  pawn.  She 
one  day  took  out  of  a  box  a  breast-pin  and 
some  rings ;  and  she  said  she  did  not  expect 
ever  to  wear  them,  but  they  would  do  for 
me  some  time,  but  I  never  saw  them  again. 
She  seemed  sick  and  unhappy.  She  did 
not  find  it  here,  in  this  country,  as  she  had 
expected.  Johnny  was  sick,  and  my  step- 
father was  often  drunk,  and  getting  all  the 
money  he  could  from  my  mother.  She 
would  often  cry  wThen  we  were  alone  in  the 
evening,  and  I  would  cry  too. 

"  I  helped  my  mother  a  little.  I  went 
after  the  caps  for  her  to  make,  and  took 
them  back  again  to  the  Jew  when  they 
were  finished.  I  think  my  mother  was  a 
good  woman,  for  she  used  to  read  the 
Bible  with  me  every  day ;  and  she  taught 


86 


MARIA  CHEESEMAX;  OR, 


me  to  pray,  and  prayed  with  me  even- 
night. 

"  After  we  had  been  in  Cherry  Street 
about  six  months,  I  should  think,  a  woman 
came  to  live  in  the  house,  overhead,  who 
had  the  ship-fever,  and  Johnny  took  it. 
He  kept  getting  worse  and  worse,  and  the 
people  said  he  ought  to  go  to  the  hospital. 

"  The  people  in  the  house  wanted  to  get 
him  away.  He  felt.very  badly,  and  did  not 
want  to  go  away  from  his  mother.  But 
they  told  him  he  would  get  well  if  he  went 
there;  and  they  kept  talking  to  him,  and 
telling  him  he  must  go,  and  then  he  said 
he  would  go.  He  had  to  go  up  to  the  City 
Hall  to  get  a  permit  to  go  to  Ward's  Island. 
The  man  who  kept  the  store  took  him  upon 
his  dray,  and  I  went  with  him.  Mother  was 
so  sick  she  could  not  go.  Johnny  never  saw 
his  mother  after  this. 

"  When  we  got  to  the  City  Hall,  we  had  to 
stay  a  long  time  waiting,  with  a  great  many 
more,  to  find  out  whether  he  could  go.  I  sat 
witli  him  on  the  bench  and  tried  to  comfort 
him.  He  did  not  mind  much — he  was  bo 
sick.  When  they  got  ready  to  go,  they  put 
him  into  a  long,  covered  wagon,  with  seats 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


87 


on  each  side,  with  a  great  many  more  who 
were  going  up.  I  stayed  to  see  them  drive 
off.  He  went  all  alone,  for  he  did  not  know 
anybody  who  went  with  him. 

"He  was  then,  I  suppose,  eight  or  nine 
years  old.  I  felt  sorry  to  have  him  go  off 
all  alone  so,  but  I  couldn't  help  it.  His 
limbs  were  swollen  very  badly,  and  so  was 
his  head ;  and  he  looked  sick  and  tired,  as 
if  he  did  not  care  for  any  thing.  But  I  ex- 
pected he  would  get  well  and  come  home 
again,  and  that  we  should  live  together  once 
more." 

Thus  early  did  Maria  begin  to  taste  the 
bitter  woes  of  an  emigrant  life.  Her  young 
heart,  which  had  known  no  sorrow,  now 
began  to  suffer.  A  few  months  before,  she 
was  in  a  home  of  plenty  and  happiness. 
Now,  disappointment,  sickness,  and  poverty 
were  her  portion!  No  more  pleasant  ram- 
bles through  the  sweet  fields — no  more 
flowers — no  gazing  or  watching  the  beauti- 
ful clouds  or  the  soft  blue  sky.  No  more 
singing  of  birds  at  early  morning — no  more 
lessons  from  a  loved  grandmother's  lips. 
No  more  access  to  that  little  chamber  where 


88 


MARIA  CHEESEMANJ  OR, 


she  so  often  kneeled  beside  her  little  white 
bed.  Other  sounds  greet  her  ears — other 
sights  now  meet  her  eyes! 

How  sad  are  the  sorrows  of  the  poor  emi- 
grant— especially  of  the  wife  or  daughter! 
First  comes  the  sad  disappointment.  They 
have  imagined  that  they  are  coming  to  a 
sort  of  earthly  paradise,  where  no  want  will 
ever  be  known.  But  the  moment  they  put 
their  feet  on  our  shore  the  delusion  van- 
ishes. If  they  are  not  left  houseless  and 
friendless  on  the  docks,  their  first  experience 
is  with  the  emigrant  runners.  Then  come 
the  miseries  of  the  emigrant  boarding- 
houses,  which  are  often  the  filthy  haunts  of 
infamy,  and  too  generally  filled  with  induce- 
ments to  drunkenness  and  gambling.  There 
they  are  often  plundered  of  all  their  slender 
means,  and  perhaps  of  all  virtue  and  princi- 
ple. Then  comes  a  home  in  some  miserable 
street :  men,  women,  and  children  crowded 
together,  breathing  the  fetid  air  of  one  or 
two  apartments  in  a  basement.  Then  the 
search  for  work  —  travelling  wearily  day 
after  day — no  work  to  be  found,  unless  the 
most  menial,  and  often  none  at  all. 

Disappointed,  poverty-stricken,  and  dis- 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


89 


heartened,  a  stranger  in  a  strange  land,  the 
poor  emigrant  is  now  almost  ruined.  He  is 
burdened  with  a  family,  with  no  means  to 
remove  from  the  over-crowded  city. 

Disappointment  makes  him  desperate, 
and  he  becomes  a  victim  of  intemperance. 
Now  the  wife  and  children  begin  their  toil 
by  sewing  and  begging.  They  become 
paupers, — perhaps  criminals.  Self-respect 
is  gone.  They  soon  become  morally  and 
physically  debased,  and  so  they  live  on,  in 
poverty  and  vice,  until  the  pestilence  over- 
takes them,  and  they  pass  away  to  the  pau- 
per's grave  !  Such  is  the  course  of  thousands 
and  tens  of  thousands  who  were  respectable 
persons  when  they  came  to  this  country, 
with  good  habits  and  associations,  industri- 
ous and  honest.  They  may  be  seeking  a 
better  heritage  foi  their  children  ;  but  when 
they  settle  in  our  great  cities,  they  come  to 
almost  certain  ruin. 

Should  the  care  of  this  mighty  throng  of 
foreigners  landing  on  our  shores  be  left  to 
the  civil  authorities  ?  Why  should  we  not 
have  benevolent  Christian  associations  on 
a  large  scale,  labouring  for  the  moral  and 
physical  condition  of  the  emigrants;  meet- 

8* 


90 


MARIA  CHEESEMAN;  OR, 


ing  them  on  our  docks,  affording  them  pro- 
tection, warning  them  to  go  at  once  to  the 
country,  and  to  shun  the  crowded  streets  of 
our  cities  as  they  value  health,  happiness,  or 
life  ?  Let  them  be  directed  to  our  wide,  un- 
cultivated Western  regions,  where  they  can 
provide  homes  for  themselves  and  their  little 
ones. 

We  have  millions  of  acres  of  land — the 
finest  in  the  world — to  be  had  for  a  mere 
nominal  price,  inviting  cultivation,  and  re- 
paying the  labourer  a  hundred-fold  for  his 
honourable  toil ;  while  in  our  cities,  swarm- 
ing thousands  are  starving,  clamouring  in 
vain  for  labour,  even  for  the  most  menial 
service. 

Onr's  is  the  land  of  freedom  and  plenty, 
education  and  morality ;  and  yet  it  is  the 
land  of  destruction  to  many  a  poor  emigrant 
morally  and  physically.  The  reason  is, 
that  they  settle  in  our  great  cities,  where 
they  and  their  children  become  demoralized 
by  the  evil  influences  which  surround  them. 
The  cure  is  an  open  Bible  and  free  schools, 
and  a  home  on  our  wide  uncultivated  ter- 
ritories, where  the  husbandman  receives  the 
reward  of  his  labour. 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


91 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  HOSPITAL. 

Sorrows  now  began  to  thicken  around 
our  young  friend.  With  a  sick  mother — 
living  in  a  basement — a  drunken  step-father 
— her  twin-brother  and  only  companion 
gone  and  lying  sick  in  the  hospital ! 

As  she  passed,  during  that  first  summer, 
day  by  day,  from  Cherry  Street  to  Mott 
Street,  with  the  caps  which  her  feeble  mo- 
ther's hand  had  made,  every  thing  must  have 
seemed  very  different  from  what  she  had 
been  accustomed  to  in  old  England.  She 
feels  a  sense  of  degradation,  because  she 
knows  people  look  upon  her  as  a  child  of 
poverty.  Her  clothes  are  not  as  nice  and 
clean  as  they  used  to  be.  That  desire  to 
make  a  respectable  appearance  in  neatness 
and  good  taste,  so  important  to  a  well-bred 
little  girl,  is  offended.  Her  keen  perception 
discerns,  in  the  contrast  with  all  around  her, 
and  in  the  cold  and  disdainful  look  of  other 


92 


MARIA  CHEESEMANJ  OR, 


children,  that  she  is  degraded.  She  is  not 
the  well-dressed,  happy,  fondly-loved  little 
child  she  used  to  be.  Day  after  day  these 
delicate  feelings  of  her  nature  are  wounded. 
She  is  beginning  to  learn  how  to  suffer. 
She  says — 

"  My  brother  went  to  the  hospital  five  or 
six  months,  I  should  think,  after  we  came 
over.  In  about  two  weeks  after  he  went,  I 
was  taken  sick  with  the  ship-fever.  We  had 
no  doctor  and  no  medicine,  and  we  were  in  a 
bad  place  in  the  basement,  and  I  kept  get- 
ting worse ;  and  the  people  were  afraid  to 
have  me  in  the  house,  and  they  told  me  I 
could  not  get  well  unless  I  went  to  the  hos- 
pital. All  I  remember  about  it  is,  that  my 
step-father  took  me  away  from  my  mother, 
and  carried  me  in  his  arms  out  of  doors,  and 
put  me  on  a  dray  which  the  store-keeper 
above  owned,  and  they  drove  me  down  to 
the  boat  which  goes  to  Staten  Island.  My 
step-father  did  not  go  down  to  the  island 
with  me,  but  left  me  alone  on  the  ferry-boat. 
There  was  somebody  on  the  boat  who  took 
care  of  the  sick  who  were  going  to  the 
quarantine  hospital. 

"  There  were  a  good  many  other  sick  peo- 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


93 


pie  who  went  down  with  me  in  the  same 
boat.  I  was  so  weak  and  sick  that  I  don't 
remember  much  about  the  hospital ;  only 
that  I  was  in  along,  narrow  room,  with  beds 
on  each  side  standing  with  the  heads  towards 
the  wall.  There  w^ere  a  great  many  sick 
people  there,  and  I  remember  seeing  one 
girl,  very  near  me,  die,  and  I  felt  terribly. 
I  was  alone  and  quite  sick.  I  could  not 
bear  to  stay  there.  I  was  longing  to  see 
my  mother;  and  I  kept  asking  the  doctor 
every  day  that  I  might  be  sent  home.  I 
got  better  after  I  had  stayed  there  a  week  or 
two  ;  but  I  was  very  weak  and  pale.  I  felt 
so  badly,  and  cried  to  see  my  mother  so 
much,  that  the  doctor  then  said  I  might  go 
back  to  New  York.  There  wrere  two  or 
three  girls  coming  up  one  morning  from  the 
hospital,  and  they  said  they  would  take  care 
of  me.  They  had  never  been  in  New  York, 
but  they  thought  they  could  find  where  I 
lived.  I  was  sick,  and  near  falling  down  in 
going  to  the  ferry  from  the  hospital.  We 
all  came  up  in  the  ferry-boat  together ;  but 
when  we  got  to  the  dock  at  the  Battery,  the 
girls  did  not  know  where  to  go  to  get  to 
Cherry  Street,  and  I  did  not  know  the  way 


94 


MARIA  CHEESEMAN  ;  OR, 


So  we  went  walking  around,  asking  peopk, 
and  trying  to  find  it.  But  we  got  lost,  and 
wandered  all  around  a  long  time  through  dif- 
ferent streets.  I  got  so  tired  and  weak  that  I 
could  not  see  any  thing,  hardly.  It  was  in 
the  summer,  and  it  was  very  warm  walking  in 
the  hot  sun,  and  I  thought  I  should  fall  down. 
At  last  we  thought  we  should  have  to  give 
up  finding  Cherry  Street.  Just  then  I 
looked  up  a  street,  and  saw  the  place  where 
I  used  to  go  with  the  caps,  which  was  in 
Mott  Street,  a  little  way  above  Chatham 
Street,  and  then  I  knew  where  we  were,  and 
that  we  were  in  Chatham  Street,  and  I  told 
the  girls  I  knew  the  way  home ;  but  they 
did  not  believe  me  at  first,  and  asked  me 
how  I  knew.  And  I  told  them  about  the 
cap-store  which  the  Jew  kept,  and  which 
way  I  used  to  go  home  down  Roosevelt 
Street.  Then  they  believed  me,  and  let  me 
go  home  alone.  I  crossed  over  and  went 
part  way  down  Roosevelt  Street ;  but  I  was 
so  weak  I  could  not  go  any  farther,  and  I 
had  to  sit  down  on  a  door-step ;  and  it 
seemed  as  if  I  could  never  go  on  again. 
When  I  was  rested  a  little,  I  went  on  to 
Cherry  Street,  wishing  so  much  to  see  my 


I 


THE  CANDY-GIRL.  95 

mother ;  and  when  I  got  where  we  lived,  I 
stood  at  the  stairs  of  the  basement,  but  I 
could  not  go  down ;  I  was  afraid  of  falling — 
I  was  so  weak.  The  people  in  the  upper  part 
of  the  house  were  looking  out  of  the  win- 
dows, and  wondered  to  see  me  back  so 
soon. 

"My  step-father  was  down  in  the  basement, 
whittling  out  a  little  boat  or  ship,  or  some 
such  thing.  When  he  saw  me,  he  came  up 
and  carried  me  down,  and  laid  me  on  the 
bed.  I  felt  very  sick,  and  I  was  so  tired,  and 
heated,  and  worn  out,  that  it  brought  on  the 
fever  again. 

"I  looked  around  and  did  not  find  my 
mother.  'Where  is  my  mother?'  I  asked. 
My  step-father  said  she  had  got  the  fever, 
too;  and  had  gone  to  Ward's  Island,  where 
Johnny  was.  I  can't  tell  how  I  felt  then. 
It  seemed  as  if  I  should  die.  I  was  all 
alone  with  my  step-father  in  that  miserable 
cellar.  He  said  they  ought  not  to  have 
let  me  come  from  the  hospital. 

"  That  night  I  had  a  dreadful  fever,  and 
there  was  no  one  but  him  to  take  care  of  me. 
He  said  I  kept  tossing  about,  was  talking 
wild  all  night,  and  kept  wanting 6  my  mother ! 


96 


MARIA  CHEESEMAN;  OR, 


my  mother !'  all  the  time;  but  I  did  noi 
know  any  thing  about  it.  And  I  don't  re- 
member any  thing  more  until  I  found  my- 
self at  the  hospital  on  Ward's  Island,  in  one 
of  the  children's  wards.  My  step-father  said 
I  was  at  home  two  days,  but  I  was  so  sick 
with  the  fever  that  they  did  not  dare  to  have 
me  there,  and  he  had  me  brought  up  to  the 
hospital  on  Ward's  Island.  I  j  ust  remember 
the  evening  when  I  came  to  the  island ;  they 
took  me  into  one  of  the  children's  wards. 
It  was  a  small,  white,  wooden  building,  with 
one  story,  and  had  only  one  long  room,  full 
of  sick  children  on  narrow  beds.  I  was  very 
sick  with  the  fever,  and  did  not  mind  much 
for  a  week  or  so  after  I  got  there.  My 
nead  felt  badly.  When  I  began  to  get  a 
little  better,  and  noticed  things,  I  talked  a 
little  to  the  nurse  who  took  care  of  me.  She 
was  very  kind  to  me.  I  asked  her  if  she 
knew  where  my  mother  was,  and  told  her 
my  mother's  name,  and  that  she  was  some- 
where at  the  hospital.  But  she  did  not 
know  her.  1  kept  asking  the  doctor,  and 
everybody,  where  my  mother  was,  but  they 
always  told  me  she  was  not  there.  I  never 
could  find  her,  or  hear  about  her.    I  sup- 


THE  CANDf-GIRL. 


97 


pose  they  were  afraid  to  tell  me  all  about 
her.  I  thought  that  she  had  got  well  and 
gone  back  to  New  York ;  and  I  thought  I 
should  get  well  soon,  and  go  back  to  her ; 
and  I  kept  hoping  this,  night  and  day. 

""When  I  was  a  little  better,  one  morning, 
as  I  was  sitting  up,  I  looked  around  through 
the  room.  There  were  little  children  and 
babies  sick  on  every  bed,  I  should  think  fifty 
or  sixty  of  them ;  and,  at  the  other  end  of 
the  room,  there  was  my  little  brother  Johnny, 
sitting  up,  too!  He  looked  sick  and  un- 
happy. I  called  the  nurse  and  told  her  that 
was  my  brother.  She  would  not  believe  me 
at  first ;  but  I  asked  her  to  ask  him  his  name, 
and  she  went  over  and  asked  him,  but  he 
wouldn't  say  any  thing.  He  did  not  seem 
to  notice.  She  then  pointed  over  to  me,  and 
said,  'Who  is  that  little  girl  over  there?  Do 
you  know  her  name  V  He  looked  over  to 
me,  and  a  smile  came  over  his  face,  and  he 
said,  'It  is  Maria,  my  sister!'  He  knew  me 
at  once. 

"When  I  began  to  get  a  little  better,  I 
longed  to  see  my  mother ;  I  wanted  her  to  take 
care  of  me,  and  I  had  not  seen  her  for  so 
long.    But  I  could  not  hear  of  her  from  any 


98 


MARIA  CHEESEMAN;  OR, 


one.  I  used  to  think  then  of  my  old  home 
in  England  with  my  grandfather. 

"  One  night  I  dreamed  I  had  gone  back, 
and  saw  my  grandfather,  my  grandmother, 
and  my  aunt ;  and  that  I  was  living  again 
with  them,  as  happy  as  I  used  to  be.  It 
seemed  as  if  all  my  troubles  were  over. 
When  I  woke  up  in  the  morning,  I  won- 
dered to  find  myself  in  the  hospital.  I  was 
disappointed  when  I  found  it  all  a  dream. 

"  It  looked  not  very  pleasant  all  round  me 
in  the  daytime,  for  there  were  so  many 
children  sick  and  crying  with  pain,  and  they 
all  looked  sad.  I  soon  got  so  well  that  I 
could  sit  up  by  my  brother's  bed,  and  I  used 
to  be  with  him  most  of  the  day,  and  give 
him  his  food  and  medicine.  One  day  he 
got  up  from  his  bed  and  seemed  pretty  well. 
The  nurse  let  him  sit  in  the  easy-chair,  and 
they  took  the  bandage  olf  his  legs,  and  he 
walked  around  a  little.  But  he  soon  began 
to  feel  worse,  and  his  legs  commenced  swell- 
ing again,  and  grew  cold,  and  he  had  to  go 
to  bed  again.  He  never  got  up  after  that 
Wlien  I  would  sit  by  him  he  did  not  talk 
much.  He  wanted  to  go  back  to  mother, 
and  he  kept  asking  every  day  fcx  mother. 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


99 


'Where  is  mother?  Won't  mother  come 
and  see  me?' " 

Poor,  suffering  children!  Alone,  sick  in 
a  hospital;  yearning  for  a  mother's  gentle 
voice  and  affectionate  sympathy !  But  there 
was  no  mother  there!  "I  told  Johnny  I 
thought  mother  was  in  New  York,  and 
when  he  got  better  he  might  go  and  see  her 
again.  After  I  had  been  there  about  two  or 
three  weeks,  I  took  a  third  fever.  Being 
among  the  sick  so  much,  I  suppose,  brought 
it  on.  But  I  got  better  of  this  soon,  and 
then  they  sent  me  out  of  the  sick-room  into 
the  nursery,  where  the  well  children  stay, 
and  go  to  school,7  for  fear  I  would  be  sick 
again.  The  nursery  was  right  across  the 
way  from  the  ward  where  I  w^as  sick.  After 
the  school  was  over  every  afternoon,  and  be- 
fore school  in  the  morning,  I  used  to  go  over 
and  sit  beside  Johnny.  He  was  very  pale 
and  thin.  He  kept  getting  worse  and  wors#, 
but  I  did  not  know  how  bad  he  was.  He 
would  ask  me  where  mother  was,  but  I  could 
not  tell  him,  for  I  did  not  know\  Sometimes 
he  would  call  out  for  mother  when  he  was 
asleep,  and  put  out  his  hands  and  feel  after 
her. 


100 


MARIA  CHEESEMAN;  OR, 


"  One  morning,  when  I  came  in  from  the 
nursery  to  see  him,  the  nurse  told  me  he 
was  dead.  She  said  he  had  died  in  the 
night,  and  that  no  one  was  up  watching  that 
night.  So  he  died  all  alone  in  the  dark." 
(And  here  the  poor  child  burst  into  tears  as 
she  was  relating  it.)  "The  nurse  said  he 
cried  out  in  the  night  for  some  one.  She 
thought  it  was  for  his  mother ;  but  he  had  to 
die  all  alone,  without  his  mother,  for  she  was 
already  dead,  but  I  did  not  know  it  them 
I  went  and  sat  by  his  bed.  He  was  cold,  and 
pale,  and  thin ;  he  had  been  sick  so  long.  I 
sat  by  him,  crying,  until  they  came  in  for 
him.  I  saw  them  put  him  into  a  coffin  and 
carry  him  away." 

"Did  you  attend  his  funeral?" 

"Oh,  they  don't  have  any  funerals  for 
them  that  die  there.  I  heard  them  say 
they  carried  him  to  some  island,  near 
there,  I  believe,  to  bury  him.  I  was  left  all 
alone  then.  I  did  not  know  what  would' 
become  of  me.  I  was  kept  in  the  nursery 
with  the  children.  I  wanted  to  get  away 
and  come  to  New  York  to  see  my  mother, 
but  they  would  not  let  me  go.  I  feared 
I  should  never  get  away.    I  thought  I 


i 


THE  CANDY-GIRL.  101 

should  have  to  stay  there  until  I  was 
grown  up. 

"People  sometimes  come  there  to  get  chil- 
dren to  take  as  their  own.  One  day  a  lady 
came  to  take  a  little  girl  to  bring  up.  All  the 
girls  were  together  up  in  the  nursery,  and  she 
looked  over  them  all,  and  she  chose  me.  I 
wanted  to  go,  that  I  might  get  away.  But 
they  would  not  let  me  go,  because  they 
thought  I  had  friends  who  might  come  for 
me.  A  few  days  after,  the  lady  came  again, 
and  wanted  me,  but  they  would  not  let  me  go. 

"I  tried  to  learn  about  my  mother  every- 
day. I  felt  very  badly  that  I  could  not  go 
to  her,  and  I  was  afraid  I  should  always  have 
to  stay  there  among  the  poor  children,  and  I 
kept  asking  every  one  how  I  could  get  away. 

"I  used  to  think  then  of  what  a  nice  home 
I  had  with  my  grandmother;  and  I  never 
forgot  the  Lord's  Prayer,  which  she  taught 
me,  and  I  used  to  say  it  every  night  in  the 
hospital,  except  when  I  was  too  sick.  It 
seemed  hard  for  me  to  be  so  sick  so  much, 
and  away  from  my  mother.  I  knew  God 
did  it,  and  I  don't  think  I  ever  felt  that  he 
was  unkind  to  me. 

"  For  two  or  three  weeks  after  my  brother 
9* 


/ 

102  MARIA  cheeseman;  or, 

died  I  stayed  in  the  nursery.  One  day,  when 
I  was  going  up-stairs,  after  dinner,  I  heard 
some  one  call  out i  Maria !'  at  the  door  at  the 
foot  of  the  stairs  behind  me.  I  knew  the 
voice.  It  was  my  step-father's.  I  felt  all  at 
once  stunned,  and  I  was  blind  for  a  minute 
and  could  not  see.  I  did  not  know  what 
was  the  matter  with  me  ;  I  suppose  now  that 
it  was  because  I  was  so  glad  to  get  away.  I 
knew  he  had  come  for  me.  He  said  he  was 
going  to  take  me  home,  and  told  me  to  get 
ready  at  once.  I  was  delighted  to  think  I 
was  going  home  to  my  mother.  I  hurried 
and  got  all  my  things  in  a  few  minutes,  and 
started  out  of  the  nursery  with  him.  As  we 
were  going  out,  I  told  him  that  Johnny  had 
died.  And  then  my  step-father  said  my 
mother  was  dead,  too.  I  stopped,  and  began 
to  cry.  He  said,  4  Hush !  there  is  no  use  in 
crying  now.  Your  mother  died  there  point- 
ing to  a  hospital  right  opposite  to  where  we 
were.  It  was  the  first  I  heard  of  her  since 
I  went  to  Quarantine  Hospital.  She  died 
close  to  where  I  had  been  sick  and  where 
Johnny  died,  and  we  never  knew  it!" 

Maria  says  that  the  nurses  were  kind  to 
her  in  the  hospital,  but  that  no  one  spoke 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


103 


gently  to  her  of  her  soul,  or  words  of  Chris- 
tian sympathy,  during  the  long  weeks  she 
was  confined  there.  Her  little  brother  died 
without  any  such  comfort,  and  probably  her 
mother  heard  no  words  of  hope  and  heaven 
from  pious  lips  in  her  last  hours. 

In  the  name  of  these  little  sufferers,  we  ap- 
peal to  the  young  Christians  in  our  great 
cities,  whose  hearts  burn  with  the  desire  to  do 
good,  to  listen  to  the  voice  of  wailing  as  it 
comes  up  night  and  day  from  these  abodes  of 
sorrow.  Will  they  not  visit  these  suffering 
orphans  in  their  affliction,  speak  gentle 
words  of  encouragement  to  them,  give  them 
a  pleasant  smile,  talk  to  them  of  the  blessed 
Saviour  who  loved  little  children,  point  them 
to  the  Lamb  of  God  who  died  for  them, 
and  teach  the  fatherless  to  say  "  Our  Father 
who  art  in  heaven?" 

Let  their  visits  be  regular  and  frequent, 
and  they  will  soon  be  surprised  at  the  amount 
of  good  they  may  do  these  little  ones,  and 
the  sufferings  they  will  alleviate.  Soon 
these  little  strangers  will  look  upon  them  as 
angels  of  mercy, 

*  And  they  an  angel's  happiness  shall  know." 


104 


MARIA  CHEESEMAN  J  OR, 


They  may  soothe  the  dying  hours  of  many 
a  little  orphan,  and  others  they  may  awake 
from  the  lethargy  of  death  to  life  and  joy 
again.  Their  presence  will  always  shed  a 
gleam  of  sunlight  and  gladness  upon  those 
sad,  pale  faces.  How  many  who  weep  over 
imaginary  sufferings,  or  over  the  sorrows  of 
some  particular  class,  or  over  the  woes  of  the 
human  race,  and  long  to  alleviate  them,  might 
here  find  their  abilities  and  their  sympathies 
fully  tasked ! 

"When  one  that  holds  communion  with  the  skies 
Has  filled  his  urn  where  those  pure  waters  rise, 
And  once  more  mingled  with  us  meaner  things, 
'Tis  e'en  as  if  an  angel  shook  his  wings ; 
Immortal  fragrance  fills  the  circuit  wide, 
That  tells  us  whence  his  treasures  are  supplied." 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


105 


CHAPTER  VH. 

THE  LITTLE  WORKERS. 

Maria  left  Ward's  Island  an  orphan.  Her 
mother  and  brother  had  found  their  resting- 
place  in  Potters'-field,  where  strangers  are 
buried.  She  had  just  heard  of  her  mother's 
death.    She  says — 

"I  went  with  my  step-father  across  the 
river  in  a  boat,  and  then  we  took  a  stage  on 
the  Third  Avenue  and  came  down  to  Frank- 
lin Square.  I  asked  where  he  was  going  to 
take  me,  and  he  said  he  had  got  a  place  for 
me  to  live  with  Mrs.  Dougherty,  who  kept  a 
boarding-house  at  No.  — ,  Cherry  Street 
Her  husband  was  a  shoemaker,  and  worked 
in  the  basement.  I  went  there  with  my 
step-father. 

"  I  know  I  looked  thin  and  pale,  and  every 
one  thought  I  should  die.  I  felt  very  wretched, 
and  wanted  to  go  back  again  to  England, 
I  used  to  talk  to  my  step-father  about  it.  He 
said  he  wanted  to  go  back  to  Ireland,  too, 


106  MARIA  cheeseman;  or, 


and  lie  would  go  and  take  a  passage.  A  few 
days  after  we  came  back  from  Ward's  Island, 
he  pretended  to  go  down  to  South  Street  to  get 
a  passage  for  us  back  to  Ireland.  He  went 
down,  but  he  did  not  get  a  passage — some- 
thing prevented  it  that  day — I  don't  know 
what ;  and  then  he  spent  his  money,  and  he 
never  had  enough  afterwards  to  pay  for  a 
passage,  and  so  I  lost  all  hopes  of  ' getting 
back.  I  never  wanted  to  go  to  Ireland,  for 
I  never  exactly  liked  Irish  people;  but  I 
hoped  in  some  way,  if  I  got  to  Ireland,  to 
get  back  to  England  to  my  grandfather's. 

"My  step-father  did  not  have  much  work 
while  I  was  in  the  hospital.  He  had  got 
back  the  things  my  mother  had  pawned,  and 
he  sold  them  again,  and  got  more  money. 
He  sold  all  my  clothes  and  my  books,  all 
the  presents  my  grandmother  gave  me,  and 
spent  the  money  in  drink.  I  had  a  pretty 
transparent  slate,  on  which  I  used  to  draw., 
and  which  I  liked  very  much ;  he  sold  this, 
and  my  Bible,  too,  which  was  a  present  from 
my  grandmother.  My  step-father  was  a 
Catholic,  and  would  never  let  me  read  the 
Bible.  He  said  when  people  came  to  this 
country  they  must  read  such  books  as  they 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


107 


had  here;  and  that  they  had  other  books 
here,  and  didn't  read  the  Bible.  He  sold  all 
the  furniture  my  mother  had,  and  I  never 
saw  any  thing  of  her's,  nor  any  of  her 
clothes,  or  any  of  my  clothes,  after  I  came 
out  of  the  hospital,  except  those  I  then  had  on. 

"  I  was  very  fond  of  my  marking-slate, 
and  of  working  worsted  on  samplers,  but  he 
sold  them  all,  or  gave  them  away.  Some- 
body told  me,  that  he  used  to  have  mother's 
things  out  of  the  trunks  while  she  was  in 
the  hospital,  and  the  people  around  would 
carry  them  off  when  he  did  not  know  it. 

"  When  I  first  went  to  Mrs.  Dougherty's, 
she  kept  a  number  of  boarders,  and  lived  very 
well  until  she  got  sick.  She  used  to  have 
convulsions,  and  grieved  after  her  children 
who  were  in  Ireland ;  and  she  was  sorry  she 
came  here  at  all.  She  came  over  here  with- 
out them,  thinking  she  could  send  money  to 
bring  them  over.  But  she  was  sickly,  and 
could  not  get  the  money.  After  she  came 
here  she  married  this  Mr.  Dougherty,  who 
was  a  shoemaker.  I  used  to  help  her  about 
house,  and  to  wash  the  dishes.  In  a  few 
months  after  I  went  there,  she  sent  me  out 
to  pick  up  wood.    She  said  other  little  girls 


108 


MARIA  CHEESEMAtf;  OK, 


did  it,  and  I  could  as  well  as  they.  She  had 
a  dreadful  temper,  and  I  was  afraid  of  her. 
If  I  did  the  least  thing  out  of  the  way,  she 
would  call  me  names,  and  get  mad  at  me, 
and  strike  me  sometimes.  Her  husband 
used  to  torment  her.  He  did  not  care  about 
her.  He  was  not  kind  to  her,  and  sometimes, 
when  he  worried  her,  she  would  go  out  and 
sit  in  the  snow  and  say  she  wished  she  could 
die.    But  he  did  not  care  about  that. 

"Mrs.  Dougherty  made  me  sew,  and  treated 
me  pretty  well  for  a  while.  After  I  had 
been  with  her  a  year  or  so,  she  got  sick,  and 
they  sent  her  to  the  hospital,  where  she  stayed 
a  week  or  two,  I  should  think.  "While  she 
was  gone,  her  husband  went  and  sold  all  her 
things — her  beds  and  furniture — to  another 
person  who  went  into  the  house ;  and  Dough- 
erty went  into  the  basement  to  live,  and 
boarded  in  the  same  house,  and  I  stayed 
there  too.  When  Mrs.  Dougherty  came  back, 
she  found  her  house  had  been  sold  out,  and 
all  her  things  sold.  She  seemed  to  give  up. 
She  and  he  then  left  Cherry  Street  and 
went  into  a  basement  in  Catharine  Street, 
and  I  went  with  them.  Her  husband  then 
went  away  and  left  her  for  a  few  months, 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


109 


and  did  nothing  for  her.  She  went  to  live 
then  in  a  basement  in  Park  Place,  and  her 
husband  came  back  and  lived  with  her  there, 
and  he  worked  at  his  trade  for  a  time. 

"  Mrs.  Dougherty  used  to  make  me  get  the 
wood  every  day ;  and  I  learned  to  sew,  and 
worked  on  coarse  shirts.  She  treated  me 
pretty  well,  only  she  was  very  cross.  About 
three  years  ago,  I  should  think,  her  husband 
went  away  and  left  her,  and  has  never  been 
back  since,  and  has  never  given  her  any 
money.  About  this  time  she  moved  into 
No.  —  Pearl  Street,  where  she  has  lived  ever 
since. 

"About  this  time  she  began  to  sell  fruit 
and  candy,  and  I  now  began  to  work  very 
hard.  It  must  have  been  two  years  and  a 
half  ago,  I  should  think.  My  step-father 
did  not  see  me  very  often,  and  he  never 
gave  me  any  clothes  or  any  money,  but  left 
me  to  old  Mrs.  Dougherty. 

"From  that  time,  until  Mr.  C   took 

me,  I  had  to  work  every  day,  selling  fruit 
and  candy.  The  old  woman  would  make 
me  get  up  at  about  daylight,  summer  and 
winter,  and  we  would  go  both  of  us  down 
to  the  market  without  our  breakfast.  She- 
10 


110 


MARIA  CHEESEMAN;  OR, 


would  buy  two  baskets  of  fruit,  apples  or 
peaches,  and  take  the  baskets  to  the  corner 
of  the  church,  or  Lovejoy's  Hotel,  where  she 
would  leave  me  to  sell  the  fruit,  and  go  home 
to  get  breakfast.  When  she  got  her  break- 
fast she  would  come  out  and  take  my  place, 
and  I  would  go  home  and  get  my  breakfast. 
"We  always  had  enough  to  eat.  After  break- 
fast I  would  come  back  and  take  the  basket 
of  apples  or  peaches,  and  go  around  to  sell 
them.  She  would  make  me  travel  all  day. 
1  used  to  go  into  the  Park,  to  Lovejoy's  Ho- 
tel, then  all  along  Park  Row  to  Broadway, 
down  Broadway  as  far  as  John  Street,  and 
down  John,  Ann,  and  Fulton  Streets,  into 
the  hotels  and  shops.  They  would  not  allow 
us  to  go  into  the  Astor  House.  It  seemed 
very  hard  at  first  for  me  to  go  around  so,  for 
I  was  barefoot  in  the  summer,  and  I  was  at 
first  ashamed  to  go  into  the  stores,  and  I  got 
another  girl  to  go  in  with  me  until  I  got 
used  to  it.  But  Airs.  Dougherty  made  me  go. 
She  said  other  girls  as  good  as  I  did  it,  and 
as  I  had  no  other  home  but  with  her,  I  had 
to  do  it. 

"  She  would  bring  out  my  dinner  to  me  into 
the  Park  at  noon,  sometimes,  and  then  I 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


Ill 


would  have  to  go  on  the  same  way  all  the 
afternoon,  until  dark.  Some  days  I  sold 
two  baskets  of  peaches  or  apples,  and  then 
I  made  four  or  six  shillings.  This  was  the 
way  I  did  every  day  for  two  years.  I  had  a 
great  many  customers  who  knew  me.  I  did 
not  know  their  names,  but  I  knew  their 
faces.  She  always  counted  out  the  fruit  for 
me  every  day,  and  told  me  exactly  how 
much  I  must  sell  them  for.  After  I  got 
home  at  night  I  had  to  go  around  to  get 
a  basket  of  chips  and  wood  to  burn  for  the 
next  day.  I  generally  got  it  in  new  build- 
ings in  Beekman  Street.  Sometimes  I  had 
to  go  a  great  ways  for  it  when  I  was  very 
tired.  When  I  got  the  wood,  then  I  sewed 
with  Mrs.  Dougherty  on  shirts  until  ten 
o'clock,  when  we  went  to  bed.  During  these 
two  years  I  think  I  worked  every  day,  Sun- 
days and  all,  in  this  way.  I  never  had  a 
play-day,  and  never  went  to  church.  I  al- 
ways had  to  work  on  Sunday.  I  was 
generally  sitting  on  Sunday  opposite 
the  church  or  in  the  Park.  It  made  no 
difference  how  cold  it  was,  or  whether  it 
rained  or  snowed.  When  it  rained,  I  gene- 
rally went  to  the  corner  of  Broadway  and 


112 


MARIA  CHEESEMAN;  OR, 


Vesey  Street,  under  an  awning.  I  sold  more 
on  such  very  bad  days,  when  no  one  else  was 
out,  and  that  was  the  reason  the  old  woman 
made  me  go  out.  I  always  had  to  go  out 
on  the  streets  the  coldest  days  in  the  winter, 
and  stay  all  day. 

"  The  old  woman  would  scold  at  me  and 
whip  me  if  I  did  not.  When  I  came  home 
at  night,  we  used  to  have  very  little  fire,  be- 
cause the  old  woman  got  all  her  coal  given 
to  her  from  the  City  Hall,  and  she  was  very 
sparing  of  it. 

46 1  used  to  tell  her  that  I  did  not  want 
to  go  out  on  Sunday,  that  I  knew  it  was 
not  right ;  but  she  said  it  was  not  so  bad 
for  poor  folks  to  work  on  Sunday  as  for 
other  people ;  and  she  would  scold  at  me, 
and  say  that  I  was  a  lazy,  good-for-nothing 
girl,  and  did  not  know  how  much  she  had 
done  for  me.  She  always  tried  to  make  me 
think  that  I  ought  to  work  for  her  until  I 
was  grown  up,  to  pay  her  for  taking  care  of 
me ;  and  she  said  she  had  done  a  great  deal 
for  me.  Sometimes  I  would  miss  a  good 
bargain,  because  I  could  not  sell  a  little 
cheaper  to  anybody  who  would  take  a  good 
many  ;  but  if  I  did  take  any  less,  she  would 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


113 


iind  it  out  when  I  came  home,  and  then  she 
would  search  me  to  see  if  I  had  not  hid  the 
money.  I  never  did  deceive  her;  but  she 
used  often  to  whip  me  when  I  came  home, 
because  I  had  not  money  enough. 

"  Sometimes  a  boy  would  steal  away  some 
of  my  apples,  and  sometimes  they  would 
not  hold  out  according  to  her  count,  and 
then  the  old  woman  would  get  very  angry 
with  me,  and  search  my  pockets  or  whip 
me.  If  I  did  not  sell  enough  she  would  get 
angry,  and  call  me  lazy,  and  say  I  did  not 
care  to  sell  for  her ;  that  I  cared  for  other 
people  more  than  for  her.  If  any  one  ever 
gave  me  money,  she  would  take  it  away  from 
me.  I  remember,  one  morning,  two  gentle- 
men, in  the  Clinton  Hotel,  talked  to  me. 
I  was  barefoot.  They  seemed  to  be  French- 
like. They  asked  me  if  I  had  a  father  and 
mother.  I  told  them  no.  They  then  gave 
me  a  shilling  a-piece ;  but  the  old  woman 
took  it  away  from  me  at  night.  At  another 
time,  a  gentleman  in  the  Exchange  Office, 
in  Lovejoy's  Hotel,  gave  me,  on  New  Year's 
day,  two  shillings ;  but  the  old  woman  found 
it  out,  and  she  took  that  away  from  me,  and 

pretended  she  was  going  to  buy  something 
10* 


114 


MARIA  CHEESEMAN;  OR, 


with  it  for  me;  but  I  never  heard  of  it 
again,  and  I  got  tired  of  asking  her  for  it. 

"  The  old  woman  was  sickly,  and  her 
temper  grew  wTorse  and  worse  every  month. 
She  got  so  during  the  last  year,  that  she 
scolded  at  me  almost  all  the  time  I  was  at 
home.  She  would  scold  at  me  for  not  getting 
up  early  enough  in  the  morning,  and  call 
me  all  sorts  of  bad  names.  I  had  to  get  up 
before  five  o'clock  in  the  morning.  Almost 
every  day  she  would  make  out  something 
wrong  when  I  came  home  from  selling  fruit. 

"  All  her  trouble  and  sickness  only  made 
her  more  cross  to  me.  She  was  furious  if  I 
said  I  did  not  want  to  do  what  she  wanted 
me  to.  She  would  whip  me  one,  two,  or 
three  times  a  week,  and  perhaps  more. 
When  she  was  angry,  she  would  catch  up  a 
stick  of  kindling-wood  and  strike  me  on  my 
arms  or  back,  or  she  would  strike  me  with 
her  hands.  She  has  often  knocked  me 
down  by  striking  me  with  her  hand  on  the 
side  of  my  head.  If  I  cried  out  very  loud,  it 
only  made  her  so  much  the  worse.  The 
neighbours  would  hear  me  cry;  but  she 
talked  so  much  and  so  loud  that  they  did 
not  like  to  say  any  thing  to  her. 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


115 


"  There  was  a  Scotchman,  a  shoemaker, 
on  the  same  floor,  and  he  used  to  tell  me  to 
run  away  from  her ;  that  it  was  too  bad  for 
her  to  whip  me  so,  and  that  she  had  no 
right  to  me.  Sometimes,  when  she  was 
scolding  me,  I  would  tell  her  I  would  go 
away  from  her.  She  would  say  I  could  not 
get  away ;  that  my  step-father  gave  me  up 
to  her,  and  I  must  stay  and  pay  her  for  her 
trouble  with  me.  Sometimes  she  said  I 
might  go  if  I  wanted  to.  Once  I  asked  her 
for  my  clothes,  and  said  I  would  go ;  but 
she  never  gave  them  to  me,  and,  of  course, 
I  could  not  go  without  them.  Sometimes 
she  was  so  furious  I  was  afraid  of  her.  I 
was  afraid  to  tell  anybody  how  she  treated 
me,  for  she  said  she  would  whip  me  if  I  told 
anybody  about  her  in  any  way.  Once,  in 
Pearl  Street,  I  remember,  late  one  Saturday 
night,  she  wanted  me  to  go  up  to  Mulberry 
Street  to  get  some  cakes  and  candy  for  to 
sell  on  Sunday.  I  was  very  tired,  for  I  had 
been  out  all  day,  and  then,  when  I  got  home, 
[  had  every  Saturday  to  get  a  double  quantity 
of  wood  for  Sunday,  and  to  wash  up  the 
floor  afterwards.  It  was  near  ten  o'clock, 
and  I  told  her  I  was  tired  and  did  not  want 


116 


MARIA  CHEESEMAN  ;  OR, 


to  go.  She  got  angry,  and  ran  at  me  and 
struck  me  with  her  hand  on  the  head  and 
knocked  me  down,  called  me  a  lazy  girl  and 
indecent  names.    This  was  not  long  before 

Mr.  C  took  me  away.    Once  she  hurt 

my  head,  and  I  was  sick  for  some  days,  and 
after  that  she  was  careful  not  to  hurt  niv 
face  or  bruise  it  when  she  whipped  me,  be- 
cause when  I  went  out  it  would  show.  I 
often  asked  her  to  let  me  go  and  live  with 
some  person,  but  she  would  say  I  was  well 
enough  off;  that  many  a  one  was  not  so 
well  off  as  I,  and  that  nobody  would  give 
me  my  board  and  clothes  for  what  I  could 
do ;  and  she  always  told  me  not  to  say  to 
any  one  I  wanted  to  get  away ;  that  if  I  did 
she  would  whip  me. 

"  I  never  had  any  new  clothes  while  I  was 
with  her.  She  used  to  make  me  dresses  out 
of  her  old  ones ;  and  sometimes  she  would 
buy  me  second-hand  ones  at  the  shops. 
But  I  was  generally  very  cold  in  the  winter, 
by  being  out  all  day  long  in  the  streets,  and 
often  wdien  I  went  home  there  was  no  fire. 
During  all  this  time  my  step-father  never 
came  near  me.  He  was  away  somewhere, 
and  he  never  gave  me  any  thing." 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


117 


Thus  was  this  poor  bereaved  child  doomed 
to  bondage  and  misery.  Hard  toil  from  five 
o'clock  in  the  morning  until  ten  at  night,  from 
month  to  month,  summer  and  winter,  was  her 
lot.  Her  toil  was  unceasing.  No  Sunday,  no 
rest,  no  holiday !  All  the  desires  of  the  child 
for  youthful  sport  were  checked.  No  home 
cheered  her  at  night ;  no  mother's  face,  no 
brother's  or  sister's  welcome.  It  was  hard — 
it  was  cruel,  but  it  did  not  degrade  her. 
Labour  is  always  respectable.  The  honest 
labour  of  the  poor  children  in  the  city  of 
New  York  is  always  touching.  These  little 
things  are  striving  for  subsistence — often 
for  the  subsistence  of  a  widowed  and  dis- 
abled mother,  and  younger  brothers  and 
sisters — grappling  with  the  sternest  realities 
of  life,  and  disdaining  to  beg.  Speak  gently 
to  these  little  workers.  Aid  them  by  a 
kind  word  as  well  as  by  patronage.  Do  not 
send  them  roughly  from  your  door.  En- 
courage them  to  honesty  and  industry.  A 
harsh  word  may  drive  to  madness  some  de- 
spairing stranger  who  is  seeking  an  honest 
livelihood,  or  may  chill  the  heart  of  some 
poor  distressed  child — not  begging,  but  man- 
fully struggling  for  a  loaf  of  bread. 


118 


MARIA  CHEESEMAN;  OR, 


It  is  terrible  to  think  that  by  a  harsh 
word,  thoughtlessly  uttered,  we  may  crush  a 
wounded  spirit.  An  inquiry  into  their 
circumstances  and  trials,  and  a  word  of 
sympathy  will  often  cheer  a  fainting  hearty 
and  perhaps  save  from  a  life  of  crime  or 
shame. 

"I  never  had  scarcely  a  person  speak 
kindly  to  me  in  the  streets  for  three  years, 
or  inquire  about  me  and  my  circumstances, 
except  one  or  two  men  in  hotels,  when  I 
went  in,  barefoot,  on  cold,  rainy  days.  No 
person  ever  asked  me  where  I  lived,  whether 
I  went  to  Sunday-school,  or  if  I  could  read, 

until  Mr.  C  asked  me,  on  Sunday  morn- 

ing." 

Let  him  who  would  do  good  in  a  humble 
yet  raost  efficient  way,  follow  the  little 
freezing  beggar,  with  tears  in  her  eyes — the 
little  match-pedler  telling  his  story  of  a  sick 
mother — the  boy  asking  for  a  job — tlie  street- 
sweeper  asking  for  a  penny — the  woman 
with  her  perishing  children — let  him  follow 
tliese  to  their  miserable  homes.  Let  him, 
when  he  finds  real  suffering  and  real  worth, 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


119 


speak  a  word  of  consolation  and  encourage- 
ment— furnish  a  little  food  and  fuel,  and  a 
warm  garment  or  two  for  half-naked  chil- 
dren —  then  bring  a  Bible  —  then  lead 
the  child  to  the  nearest  Sunday-school. 
Such  a  man  would  be  surprised,  at  the 
end  of  a  year,  to  see  what  he  had  done. 
He  would  certainly  find  many  cases  of  im- 
position. But  among  these  suffering,  rag- 
ged, forlorn  children  he  would  find  many  a 
brave  little  hero,  whose  life  was  a  battle. 
He  would  often  find  examples  of  piety  and 
resignation  in  the  hovels  of  destitution, 
which  would  elevate  his  own  faith  and 
humble  his  heart.  He  would  learn  to  re- 
spect labour,  and  to  feel  for  the  tempted. 
He  would  find  a  tide  of  new  and  generous 
sympathies  filling  his  heart,  increasing  his 
happiness,  and  elevating  his  nature.  He 
would  see  fearful  contrasts  between  his  own 
lot  and  that  of  others,  between  the  happi- 
ness of  his  own  children  and  that  of 
thousands  around  him,  which  would  fill  his 
soul  with  thankfulness  to  the  God  of  pro- 
vidence. 

Almost  any  day,  in  the  streets  of  New 
York,  you  may  see  a  little  boy,  eleven  years 


120 


MARIA  CHEESEMAN;  OR, 


old,  who  was  driven  away  from  his  home 
by  a  drunken  father  and  a  cruel  step-mother. 
His  father  was  once  a  very  respectable  man, 
and  left  England  when  Johnny  was  quite 
young.  After  his  mother's  death  his  father 
came  to  this  country,  and  here  fell  into  bad 
company,  and  married  a  bad  woman,  and 
became  a  drunkard.  His  father  and  step- 
mother banished  him  from  home.  He  is 
sickly  and  lame;  yet  for  a  long  time  past 
he  has  traversed  the  streets,  selling  pens, 
pencils,  picture-books,  pins,  matches,  &c. ; 
and  by  this  means  he  pays  for  his  lodging 
at  the  newsboys'  lodging-house,  and  buys 
his  meals  at  an  eating-cellar  in  Fulton  Street. 
An  honest  worker  is  lame  Johnny !  But 
he  is  more  than  this :  he  is  a  noble  boy ! 
He  has  a  little  brother,  Willie,  only  five 
years  old,  who  has  also  been  driven  away 
from  home,  and  him  has  Johnny  received 
and  provided  for.  He  has  employed  Willie 
in  trade,  until  now  this  little  fellow  traverses 
New  York,  Brooklyn,  Williamsburg,  and 
Jersey  City,  alone,  prosecuting  his  lawful 
business  with  as  much  confidence  and 
shrewdness  as  a  man,  making  sometimes 
four  shillings  a  day.    Johnny  counsels  him, 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


121 


restrains  him  from  waywardness  and  wicked 
companions.  This  little  Willie  is  a  brave  boy. 
Hear  a  little  of  his  conversation  with  ns  : — 
"Willie,  why  did  you  go  away  from 
home  ?" 

"  Because  I  be's  licked  every  day  for  no- 
thing, and  mother  makes  me  go  a-begging." 

"  Is  not  your  father  kind  to  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  sometimes,  when  he  ain't  drunk ; 
but  he  gets  drunk  every  day,  and  so  does 
my  mother,  and  then  they  licks  me  for 
every  thing." 

"Have  you  any  brothers  or  sisters  ?" 

"Yes,  I  have  a  sister  older  than  Johnny, 
who  picks  up  cold  victuals,  and  one  little 
brother  who  can't  walk.  He  sits  on  the 
floor  all  the  time,  and  my  mother  licks  him 
all  the  time,  most,  for  crying;  and  if  he 
cries  when  he  is  hungry,  he  gets  a  licking 
too,  with  a  strap." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do,  Willie,  when 
you  are  grown  up  ?" 

"  When  I  get  bigger,  I  am  going  to  get 
my  little  brother  away,  as  Johnny  got  me, 
and  take  care  of  him." 

"  What  do  you  do  with  the  money  you 
make?" 

11 


122  MARIA  cheeseman;  or, 


"I  gives  it  to  Johnny.  He  buys  other 
things  with  it." 

"  Johnny  is  very  good  to  you,  isn't  he  ?" 

"Yes:  he  takes  me  to  Mr.  C  's  Sun- 
day-school. But  Johnny  is  sick,  and  the 
boys  say  he  won't  live  long.  He's  got  a 
sore  on  his  leg  which  makes  him  lame,  and 
the  doctor  be's  trying  to  cure  it,  but  can't." 

"Where  do  you  sleep,  "Willie?" 

"  I  sleeps  at  the  lodging-house,  if  I  get  in 
before  they  lock  up;  but  sometimes  I  get 
locked  out,  and  then  I  walk  about  the  streets, 
sometimes,  if  it  is  cold,  all  night;  and  some- 
times I  sleep  on  a  cart,  or  in  a  box." 

"How  much  do  you  spend  every  day?" 

"  I  give  sixpence  for  my  lodging,  and  I  give 
ninepence  for  a  cup  of  coffee  and  meat  for 
breakfast;  and  I  buy  a  sixpence-worth  of 
bread  and  butter  for  my  dinner,  and  take  it 
with  me  ;  and  I  don't  get  much  supper." 

"  Can  you  read,  Willie  ?" 

"Not  much,  but  Johnny  can;  he  goes  to 
day-school  every  day,  and  takes  me,  some- 
times, but  I  get  to  sleep  there.  I  don't  like 
school  much." 

So  talked  Willie,  the  little  pedler,  nine 
years  old. 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


123 


Johnny,  we  hope,  is  in  the  way  to  be  a 
Christian.  He  is  always  at  Sunday-school, 
and  frequently  brings  new  scholars  with  him. 
He  attends  a  day-school  regularly,  and  yet 
supports  himself  by  peddling  before  and 
after  school. 

He  is  seeking  a  place  in  the  country  for 
Willie,  for  he  says  Willie  is  getting  with  bad 
boys,  who  get  his  money  away  from  him. 

Such  is  the  brief  history  of  one  of  our 
little  worthies.  Who  is  labouring  more 
nobly,  or  doing  his  duty  more  faithfully, 
than  lame  Johnny?  You  may  meet  him 
about  the  streets  of  K"ew  York,  daily.  Be 
kind  to  him.  Speak  gently  to  him,  and  aid 
him — for  he  is  working  hard  for  a  noble 
purpose  —  how  much  more  noble  and  ac- 
ceptable to  God  than  the  aims  of  thousands 
i  in  our  city,  whose  richly-freighted  vessels  are 
in  our  harbours,  whose  merchandise  occu- 
pies our  stores,  and  whose  gold  and  silver 
fill  the  vaults  of  our  great  commercial  me- 
tropolis ! 

From  among  these  working  boys  it  is 
possible,  by  proper  selection  and  encourage- 
ment, to  find  good  clerks  and  apprentices. 
Who  are  more  energetic  and  enterprising 


124 


MARIA  CHEESEMAN;  OR, 


among  our  men  of  business,  than  self-made 
men,  who  have  risen  from  poverty  and  hard- 
ship ?  It  may  be  asked,  how  can  we  sys- 
tematically reach  and  aid  this  class  of  chil- 
dren ? 

Take  one  of  these  boys,  and  train  him  up 
to  your  own  business. 

Let  every  church  in  the  city  regard  the 
care  of  these  poor  children  as  a  great  duty, 
and  provide  some  means,  by  mission  schools, 
or  otherwise,  for  their  amelioration. 

Sunday-schools,  by  means  of  their  mis- 
sionary agents,  or  otherwise,  must  endea- 
vour to  provide  homes  in  the  country  for  a 
certain  number  of  these  children,  every  year. 

Let  each  Christian  and  philanthropist 
remove  at  least  one  of  these  destitute  ones 
every  year  to  a  home  in  the  country. 

Let  the  Sunday-schools  in  the  country  co- 
operate in  this  work,  by  seeking  places  for 
such  children  in  their  own  vicinity. 

Let  Christian  families  in  the  country  take 
one  of  tuese  boys  or  girls,  and  bring  them 
up  religiously.  These  children  can  always 
be  found  by  proper  application  to  the  insti- 
tutions that  now  provide  for  them. 

Suppose  that  each  of  the  two  hundred 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


125 


Sunday-schools  connected  with  the  New 
York  Sunday-school  Union  should  thus  pro- 
vide each  year  for  ten  of  these  poor  chil- 
dren— which  would  be  not  less  than  two 
thousand  children  each  year — who  can  com- 
pute the  good  which  might  thus  be  done  by 
this  simple  means  ? 

This  sympathy  with  human  suffering  is 
not  religion — it  is  not  faith;  but  it  is  the 
fruit  of  faith — it  is  an  effect  of  religion.  It 
is  in  imitation  of  Christ.  He  went  about 
"healing  every  sickness  and  every  disease 
among  the  people." 

"But  when  he  saw  the  multitude,  he  was 
moved  with  compassion  on  them,  because 
they  fainted,  and  were  scattered  abroad  as 
sheep  having  no  shepherd." 

"And  he  said,  I  have  compassion  on  the 
*  multitude,  because  they  continue  with  me 
now  three  days,  and  have  nothing  to  eat.  I 
will  not  send  them  away  fasting,  lest  they 
faint  in  the  way." 

"  He  that  hath  not  the  spirit  of  Christ  is 
none  of  his." 

There  is  force  and  truth  in  the  following 

poem,  written  by  a  working-man,  who  knew 

and  felt  the  sorrows  of  the  poor  : 
11* 


126 


MARIA  CHEESEMAN;  OR, 


"God  help  the  poor,  who  in  this  wintry  morn 
Come  forth  from  alleys  dim  and  courts  obscure ! 
God  help  yon  poor,  pale  girl,  who  droops  forlorn, 
And  meekly  her  affliction  doth  endure ! 
God  help  her,  outcast  lamb !    She  trembling  stands — 
All  wan  her  lips,  and  frozen  red  her  hands ; 
Her  sunken  eyes  are  modestly  downcast ; 
Her  night-black  hair  streams  on  the  fitful  blast ; 
Her  bosom,  passing  fair,  is  half-reveal'd, 
And  oh!  so  cold,  the  snow  lies  there  congeal'd; 
Her  feet  benumb'd,  her  shoes  all  rent  and  worn ! 
God  help  thee,  outcast  lamb,  who  stands  forlorn! 
God  help  the  poor! 


"  God  help  the  poor!    An  infant's  feeble  wail 
Comes  from  yon  narrow  gateway ;  and,  behold ! 
A  female  crouching  there,  so  deathly  pale, 
Huddling  her  child  to  screen  it  from  the  cold. 
Her  vesture  scant,  her  bonnet  crush'd  and  torn  ; 
A  thin  shawl  doth  her  baby  dear  enfold ; 
And  so  she  bides  the  ruthless  gale  of  morn, 
Which  almost  to  her  heart  hath  sent  its  cold. 
And  now  she  sudden  darts  a  ravening  look, 
As  one  with  new  hot  bread  goes  past  the  nook; 
And  as  the  tempting  load  is  onward  borne, 
She  weeps.    God  help  the  hapless  one  forlorn! 
God  help  the  poor! 


**  God  help  the  poor!    Behold  yon  famish'd  lad! 
No  shoes  nor  hose  his  wounded  feet  protect. 
With  limping  gait,  and  looks  so  dreamy  sad, 
lie  wanders  onward,  stopping  to  inspect 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


127 


Each  window  stored  with  articles  of  food. 
He  yearns  but  to  enjoy  one  cheering  meal. 
Oh !  to  the  hungry  palate  viands  rude 
Would  yield  a  zest  the  famish'd  only  feel ! 
He  now  devours  a  crust  of  mouldy  bread; 
With  teeth  and  hands  the  precious  boon  is  torn, 
Unmindful  of  the  storm  that  round  his  head 
Impetuous  sweeps.    God  help  the  child  forlorn! 
God  help  the  poor! 

"God  help  the  poor!    Another  have  I  found; 
A  bowed  and  venerable  man  is  he. 
His  slouched  hat  with  faded  crape  is  bound ; 
His  coat  is  gray,  and  threadbare  too,  I  see. 
The  rude  winds  seem  to  mock  his  hoary  hair ; 
His  shirtless  bosom  to  the  blast  is  bare ; 
Anon  he  turns,  and  casts  a  wistful  eye, 
And  with  scant  napkin  wipes  the  blinding  spray, 
And  looks  around,  as  if  he  fain  would  spy 
Friends  he  had  feasted  in  his  better  day. 
Ah !  some  are  dead,  and  some  have  long  forborne 
To  know  the  poor ;  and  he  is  left  forlorn. 
God  help  the  poor ! 

"God  help  the  poor  who  in  lone  valleys  dwell, 
Or  by  far  hills,  where  whin  and  heather  grow ! 
Their's  is  a  story  sad  indeed  to  tell. 
Yet  little  cares  the  world,  and  less  'twould  know, 
About  the  toil  and  want  men  undergo. 
The  wearying  loom  doth  call  them  up  at  morn : 
They  work  till  worn-out  nature  sinks  to  sleep  ; 
They  taste,  but  are  not  fed.    The  snow  drifts  deep 


128 


MARIA  CHEESEMAN;  OR, 


Around  the  fireless  cot,  and  blocks  the  door; 
The  night-storm  howls  a  dirge  across  the  moor. 
And  shall  they  perish  thus,  oppressed  and  lorn? 
Shall  toil  and  famine  hopeless  still  be  borne? 
No !  God  shall  yet  arise,  and  help  the  poor!" 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


129 


CHAPTER  Vm. 

the  Scotchman's  narrative. 

It  may  seem  to  some  that  Maria's  ac- 
count is  the  exaggerated  statement  of  a 
child  naturally  endeavouring  to  make  the 
best  story  of  her  trials.  In  order  to  ascertain 
from  others  her  real  condition  while  with 
the  old  woman,  a  visit  was  made  to  the 
former  abode  of  Maria,  in  Pearl  Street.  It 
was  a  spacious  house,  and  might  have  been 
in  some  former  day  the  mansion  of  a  mer- 
chant prince ;  its  solidity,  faded  ornaments, 
and  frescoed  halls  showing  it  to  have  been 
once  an  elegant  residence.  It  presented 
one  of  those  contrasts  everywhere  seen  in 
the  dwellings  of  the  lower  wards  of  New 
York,  where  the  most  costly  and  stylish 
dwellings  of  those  who  were  not  long  since 
our  richest  citizens  are  now  the  abodes  of 
the  poorest,  the  most  filthy,  and  the  most 
degraded. 


130 


MARIA  CHEESEMAN;  OR, 


We  sometimes  find  in  one  of  these  fine 
old  parlours  mahogany  doors,  beautiful  mar- 
ble mantels,  frescoed  ceilings,  carved  wood- 
work, dingy,  smoked  walls,  patched  win- 
dows, a  latchless  door,  a  miserable,  dirty 
bed,  a  few  broken  chairs,  a  wash-tub,  and  a 
little  cooking-stove.  It  is  a  painful  but  in- 
structive contrast. 

We  passed  up  the  wide  stairway  of  this 
old  house  along  three  pairs  of  stairs  to  the 
garret.  The  paper  was  torn  from  the  wall, 
which  was  discoloured,  and  peeled,  and 
blistered  by  the  weather.  The  garret  was 
partitioned  off"  into  apartments,  just  under 
the  roof.  There  was  nothing  overhead 
but  the  rafters  and  the  shingles.  In  one  of 
the  apartments  of  this  garret,  in  the  front 
part  of  the  house,  towards  Franklin  Square, 
we  heard  the  sound  of  a  shoemaker's  ham- 
mer, which  told  us  that  there  was  the  per- 
son we  came  to  see ;  for  Maria  had  spoken 
of  a  Scotchman,  a  shoemaker,  who  had 
been  kind  to  her,  and  who  lived  next  door 
to  Mrs.  Dougherty. 

We  went  in,  and  were  welcomed  by  a 
good-looking  man,  about  thirty-five  years 


ftt.  €$ee#eman. 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


131 


of  age,  seated  on  his  kit,  making  a  boot 
He  had  a  fine,  open,  expressive  countenance. 
His  wife  sat  beside  him,  holding  a  little 
girl,  with  a  pleasing  face,  and  about  two 
years  old.  The  room  was  directly  under 
the  roof,  and  the  eaves  reached  to  the  floor 
on  one  side,  while  on  the  side  of  the  room 
towards  the  centre  of  the  house  there  was 
just  space  for  a  person  to  stand.  There  was 
scarcely  ten  feet  square  of  available  room. 
The  bed  on  one  side  touched  the  rafters. 
There  was  a  cooking-stove,  and  the  shoe- 
maker's kit,  and  one  or  two  chairs,  which 
constituted  all  the  furniture  of  the  room. 
The  only  light  came  through  a  scuttle  in  the 
roof,  which  was  open,  and  a  pleasant  March 
sun  was  shining  in,  making  every  thing 
cheerful. 

So  neat  and  tidy  was  this  narrow  place 
that  it  was  really  attractive,  and  gave  me  a 
positive  pleasure,  and  a  gratification  of  taste, 
to  look  at  it.  The  love  of  the  orderly  and 
the  beautiful  is  not  always  confined  to  the 
rich.  It  may  be  seen  in  the  hovels  of  the 
poor.  A  flower,  blooming  in  the  sunny 
window  of  a  neat  cottage,  gives  me  more 


132 


MARIA  CHEESEMANJ  OR, 


pleasure  than  the  costly  frescoes  of  a  modern 
parlour. 

There  was  something  about  this  room  of 
the  shoemaker  which  is  only  expressed  by 
the  word  home.  There  was  the  happy  and 
industrious  father  and  husband,  the  con- 
tented and  loving  wife  and  mother,  and  the 
beloved  child.  There  was  a  clock  on  the 
shelf,  ticking  its  domestic  music,  and  a  de- 
mure cat  on  the  bed.  There  were  also  a 
picture  of  the  Saviour,  and  one  of  a  highland 
chief,  hanging  on  the  side  of  the  room 
opposite  the  eaves. 

The  wife  was  talking  to  her  husband, 
holding  the  baby,  and  mending  a  stocking 
all  at  once,  and  doing  all  very  well.  It  was 
a  picture  of  domestic  bliss. 

The  shoemaker  was  asked  if  he  remem- 
bered Mrs.  Dougherty. 

"Yes,  I  do,"  said  he;  "but  she's  dead 
now/' 

"Did  you  know  the  little  girl,  Maria,  who 
lived  with  her?" 

"  Indeed  I  did,  sir,  and  as  nice  a  little  girl 
as  you  would  need  to  know,  she  was.  They 
lived  right  here  next  to  me — only  this  board 
partition  between  us." 


THE  CANDY-GIKL. 


133 


He  was  then  asked  of  the  old  woman's 
treatment  of  Maria.    He  said — 

"  It  was  as  cruel  as  it  could  be.  It  was 
so  bad  that  I  could  not  endure  to  see  and 
hear  it,  and  I  thought  of  just  going  to  some 
magistrate  about  it.  I  spoke  to  the  owner, 
or  agent,  of  the  house,  here,  but  he  said  he 
did  not  like  to  interfere ;  and  all  the  people 
in  this  house  but  me  were  Catholics,  and  I 
was  a  Protestant,  and  could  not  speak  to 
them  about  it." 

"  The  poor  little  child  was  whipped  every- 
day, and  generally  twice,  as  sure  as  the  day 
came  around,  by  that  wicked  old  woman. 
She  was  so  cross  nobody  could  live  with  her. 
One  man  boarded  with  her,  but  he  could 
not  stand  it  long.  She  would  get  the  little 
girl  up  in  the  summer  at  four  or  five  o'clock, 
and  in  the  winter  at  six  or  half-past  six,  and 
send  her  off,  without  her  breakfast,  to 
.Washington  Market  for  fruit.  Before  she 
went  out,  she  would  get  a  beating,  more  or 
less,  for  something.  Not  a  day  passed 
without  that  child  getting  a  beating  once  or 
twice.  Why,  I  have  seen  the  old  woman 
whipping  her  down-stairs  with  a  stick — 
12 


134  MARIA  cheeseman;  or, 

driving  her  out  of  doors  in  the  coldest 
winter  days  to  sell  apples,  when  the  child 
had  nothing  on  her  bare  legs,  and  only  an 
old  pair  of  shoes  on,  and  she  only  half- 
dressed.  The  poor  child  was  crying,  and 
saying  it  was  too  cold  to  go  out,  and  the 
old  woman  beat  her  for  saying  so.  She  had 
to  go  out  every  clay,  and  in  all  weathers, 
rain  or  snow.  The  girl  never  got  any 
thing  for  dinner  generally  until  she  came 
home  about  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon, 
and  then  she  had  to  go  out  again  and  pick 
up  wood  before  the  old  woman  would  give 
her  any  thing  warm  to  eat,  and  two  to  one 
if  she  did  not  get  a  beating  before  she  got 
through  her  dinner.  The  old  woman  al- 
ways had  a  stick  to  beat  her  with,  and  she 
would  catch  up  any  of  the  wood  which  lay 
in  the  corner,  and  strike  her  about  the 
'  shoulders. 

"  The  poor  thing  would  often  cry  out,  6  For 
God's  sake,  do  not  kill  me  !'  and  sometimes 
she  would  get  away  and  run  down-stairs,  and 
stay  out  for  hours — afraid  to  come  in.  But 
I  never  knew  the  child  to  do  any  thing 
wrong,  or  to  provoke  her,  and  she  never 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


135 


would  answer  her  back  when  she  whipped 
her.  The  old  woman  almost  always  beat 
her  when  she  came  home,  because  she  did 
not  sell  enough,  or  came  home  too  soon,  or 
her  apples  did  not  hold  out,  or  for  something 
or  other.  The  old  woman  used  to  drink  her 
brandy  every  day  regular,  and  Maria  often 
enough  had  to  go  for  it.  She  would  not  get 
drunk,  but  it  made  her  awfully  cross.  I've 
seen  her  drink  it,  and  I  know  it  was  brandy. 

"The  poor  child  was  worked  almost  to 
death.  She  was  scolded  and  whipped,  morn- 
ing, noon,  and  night.  I  have  sometimes 
been  afraid  she  would  kill  the  child  by  her 
abuse ;  and  I  determined,  when  the  gentle- 
man, the  missionary,  came  here  for  Maria  to 
go  to  Sunday-school,  to  let  him  know  about 
it;  and  I  told  him  I  would  go  before  a  ma- 
gistrate and  make  an  affidavit.  After  Maria 
began  to  go  to  Sunday-school,  there  was  not 
a  Sunday  morning  in  which  she  did  not  get 
p  a  beating  before  she  went.  The  old  woman 
was  always  angry  to  have  her  go.  But  when 
any  of  the  Sunday-school  teachers  came  to 
see  Maria,  the  old  woman  was  always  very 
pleasant,  and  glad  to  see  them,  and  said  she 


136 


MARIA  CHEESEMAN;  OR, 


was  herself  more  than  half  Protestant.  She 
was  saying  this  to  get  something.  She  was 
always  trying  to  get  something  from  every- 
body, and  always  professing  to  be  very  poor 
and  suffering. 

"  The  man  who  came  to  see  Maria  gave 
her  a  Bible,  and  the  old  woman  threw  it  into 
the  coals  and  burnt  it  up.  The  lady  Sun- 
day-school teachers  gave  Maria  some  cloth- 
ing, and  the  old  woman  burnt  this  up  be- 
cause it  came  from  the  Protestants.  She 
pretended  to  be  Catholic,  but  I  don't  believe 
she  had  any  religion.  After  they  took  Ma- 
ria away  from  her,  she  said  they  had  taken 
her  away  to  a  bad  house,  and  pretended  that 
was  all  they  wanted  of  her,  and  that  if  she 
could  get  away  she  would  come  back  to  her. 
I  told  her  she  was  safe  enough,  I  knew.  She 
never  went  out  to  sell  apples  after  Maria 
went  away.  She  stayed  home  and  drank 
her  brandy,  until  she  died,  in  November. 
She  had  twelve  dollars  in  the  house  when 
she  died,  and  ninety-four  dollars  in  the  bank. 
I  suppose  the  girl  made  all  this  money. 
She  made  from  three  to  six  and  seven  shil- 
lings a-day.    All  this  money  her  son  got. 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


137 


Ho  "bought  a  gold  watch  and  chain,  and 
spent  all  the  rest,  and  then  enlisted  in  the 
army. 

"  The  girl  did  not  dare  to  complain  to  any- 
one about  her  treatment,  because  the  old 
woman  threatened  to  beat  her  if  she  ever 
spoke  about  it.  I  believe,  indeed,  sir,  that 
the  poor  child  was  at  times  afraid  of  her 
life." 

That  half  hour  with  the  shoemaker,  in  the 
garret,  was  a  pleasant  one.  He  came  to  this 
country  a  few  years  since,  as  he  said,  "to 
better  my  condition.  They  told  me  this  was 
a  very  free  country,  and  all  that,  and  I  think 
it  is ;  I  wish  I  was  back." 

His  statement  showed  that  the  account 
Maria  had  given  of  the  old  woman's  treat- 
ment of  her  was  not  at  all  exaggerated. 
Indeed,  no  one  could  talk  with  her  without 
an  impression  that  she  was  a  child  of  re- 
markable truthfulness  and  candour,  even 
when  under  very  great  temptation  to  exag- 
*  gerate  trials  which  had  brought  her  into 
much  notice.  She  was  always  reserved  in 
talking  of  the  old  woman ;  and  all  the  in- 
formation respecting  her  cruelty  was  ob- 
12* 


138  MARIA  cheeseman;  or, 


tained  by  repeatedly  questioning  her.  There 
was  also  a  perfect  purity  of  thought  and  de- 
licacy about  the  child,  which  was  remark- 
able for  one  exposed  as  she  had  been.  In- 
deed, she  seemed  free  from  the  ordinary 
faults  of  children. 

After  she  came  from  the  country,  when 
preparing  to  go  to  England,  she  was  for  some 

three  weeks  with  Miss  M  ,  in  a  family 

with  children.  Her  friends  watched  her  " 
closely  with  curiosity,  to  see  what  faults  she 
had ;  but  the  lady  with  whom  she  was  stay- 
ing said,  "I  never  could  find  any  thing  for 
which  to  reprove  her.  She  was  not  in  the 
least  deceitful,  or  quarrelsome,  or  coarse  in  ' 
her  habits.  She  was  patient  and  very  in- 
dustrious, and  I  was  surprised  that  such  a 
child  could  be  so  free  from  faults/ ' 

"We  shall  find  no  explanation  of  this 
except  in  her  very  early  training  and  associa- 
tions, the  pious  example  and  religious  educa- 
tion she  enjoyed,  and  the  prayers  of  those 
who  loved  her.  No  parents  can  know  the 
value  of  these  things,  until  they  have  seen 
their  children  pass,  unscathed,  through  the 
fiery  trials  of  childhood  and  youth.    There  is 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


139 


meaning  in  the  promise,  "  Train  up  a  child 
in  the  way  he  should  go,  and  when  he  is  old 
he  will  not  depart  from  it." 

During  the  period  that  Maria  lived  with 
Mrs.  Dougherty,  until  the  time  that  she 
was  taken  to  the  Sunday-school,  she  seems 
not  to  have  been  under  the  least  religious 
influence  or  instruction  of  any  kind.  She 
never  heard  a  prayer,  never  entered  a 
church,  never  read  a  book,  during  the  whole 
time.  She  hardly  heard  a  voice  of  kind- 
ness. The  language  to  which  she  was  ac- 
customed was  the  ribaldry  of  the  streets,  or 
the  taunts  and  rebukes  of  the  petulant  old 
woman. 

"We  have  thus  given  a  brief  sketch  of  "  The 
Candy-girl's"  experiences  as  the  little  emi- 
grant, the  orphan  in  the  hospital,  the  wan- 
derer in  the  streets,  the  dweller  in  the  garret 
and  in  the  cellar,  the  child  of  poverty  and  sick- 
ness, of  loneliness,  and  almost  of  despair. 
Yet  how  much  of  sadness  and  mourning  was 
there  deep  in  the  heart  of  that  little  orphan 
child,  which  she  can  never  tell,  which  none 
but  God  could  see ;  and  yet  how  bright  and 
true  she  came  out  from  all  these  trials  and 


140 


MARIA  CHEESEMAN;  OR, 


temptations — a  wonderful  example  of  God's 
preserving  grace  and  covenant  mercy !  "  The 
Lord  is  thy  keeper."  "The  Lord  is  thy 
shade  upon  thy  right  hand."  "  The  sun  shall 
not  smite  thee  by  day,  nor  the  moon  by 
night."  "  The  Lord  shall  preserve  thee  from 
all  evil."  "He  shall  preserve  thy  soul." 
"  The  Lord  shall  preserve  thy  going  out  and 
thy  coming  in,  from  this  time  forth,  and  evei* 
for  evermore." 

How  faithfully  were  these  promises  fulfilled 
to  Maria  !  She  was  exposed  to  dangers  and 
temptations  by  day  and  night.  Her  soul 
was  in  danger.  Her  religious  views  were 
assaulted,  yet  the  Lord  preserved  her.  It 
was  the  teaching  of  her  grandmother,  and 
the  reading  of  the  Bible,  that  were  the 
means  of  preventing  her  from  error  and  sin. 

child  can  read  this  Bible  too  early,  or 
commit  to  memory  too  much  of  it.  Xo 
parent  should  undervalue  the  holy  word  as  a 
means  of  guarding  and  restraining  their 
children  in  after  life. 

"  Where  withal  shall  a  young  man  cleanse 
his  way?"  "By  taking  heed  thereto  ac- 
cording to  thy  word."     "Thy  word  is  a 


THE  CANDY-GIRL.  141 

lamp  unto  my  feet,  and  a  light  unto  my 
path/' 

"  The  entrance  of  thy  word  giveth  light. 
It  giveth  understanding  unto  the  simple" 


112 


MARIA  CHEESEMAN;  OK, 


CHAPTER  IX. 
home!  sweet  home! 

Our  little  wanderer  was  now  about  to  re- 
turn to  her  native  shores,  to  the  only  home 
she  had  ever  known.  That  same  hand  that 
had  led  her  over  the  ocean  to  this  land, 
which  had  so  mysteriously  guided  her  youth- 
ful steps  through  scenes  of  poverty  and 
wretchedness,  which  had  guarded  her  from 
pestilence  and  sin,  and  raised  her  up  from  the 
borders  of  the  grave,  was  now  about  to  lead 
her  back  again  to  her  old  home,  even  while 
yet  a  child.  After  all  her  wanderings  and 
sorrows,  she  was  once  more  to  hear  the  soft 
accents  of  love,  and  once  more  to  be  folded 
in  the  arms  of  parental  affection. 

She  was  to  sail  in  the  London  packet 
called  "  American  Congress."  The  owners  of 
the  line  generously  offered  to  carry  her  for 
nothing,  but  her  grandfather  had  forwarded 
sufficient  funds  to  pay  her  fare.    She  was  to 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


143 


cross  the  ocean  alone,  without  a  protector, 
but  she  said  she  was  not  at  all  afraid 
to  go. 

"Wishing  to  enlist  the  sympathy  of  the 
captain,  we  went  as  a  friend  of  Maria'  to 
6ee  him,  and  told  him  an  orphan  child  was 
to  be  committed  to  his  care,  and  gave  him 
a  little  of  her  history.  His  generous  heart 
warmed,  his  eye  kindled,  and  we  saw 
he  was  the  man  to  be  her  protector.  He 
was  told  that  if  on  his  arrival  her  friends 
were  not  waiting  for  her,  it  would  be  unsafe 
for  her  to  be  left  alone  in  London  as  she  had 
been  on  her  arrival  in  New  York.  He 
stretched  himself  up,  and  his  weather-beaten 
face  grew  darker,  as  if  indignant  at  the 
suggestion :  "  Never  mention  it,  never  men- 
tion it,  sir,"  said  he;  "I  am  a  father  my- 
self. I'll  not  leave  the  poor  girl  until  I  see 
her  safe  with  that  old  grandmother.  I'll  go 
down  to  Kent  with  her  myself.  I  want  to 
^see  those  English  farmers — they  are  some 
of  the  nicest  people  in  the  world.  I'll  take 
care  of  her  as  if  she  was  my  own  daughter 
— never  fear  me  for  that." 

The  ship  was  to  sail  on  Tuesday,  the  9th 


144 


MARIA  CHEESEMAN;  OR, 


of  January.    On  the  day  before,  Captain 

W         called  on  Miss  M  ,  with  whom 

Maria  was  staying.  He  wanted  to  see  the 
child.  He  said  he  could  not  sail  until 
Thursday. 

The  delay  was  a  great  trial  to  Maria.  She 
was  anxious  to  go,  but  did  not  complain. 
Yet  it  was  evident  this  one  subject  engrossed 
her  whole  heart.  Poor  child!  it  was  no 
wonder ; — with  all  the  memories  of  her  early 
childhood  and  her  happy  home  thronging 
her  mind,  in  strange  contrast  with  the  scenes 
of  want  and  .suffering  from  which  she  had 
just  emerged. 

On  Thursday  it  stormed  hard,  and  she 
was  again  doomed  to  disappointment.  The 
ship  could  not  sail  till  Friday.  The  trunk 
which  had  been  so  well  packed  had  been 
waiting  in  the  hall  for  three  or  four  days. 
That  little  black  trunk  was  a  great  affair  to 
her.  It  was  her's — full  of  her  things,  and 
she  had  a  memorandum  of  every  article  in 
it.  Yet  still  little  presents  of  books  kept 
coming  in  with  all  sorts  of  kind  words  on 
the  blank  leaf,  and  each  of  them  found  room 
in  that  little  trunk,  and  each  brought  a  happy 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


145 


smile  to  Maria's  face.  She  said  she  should 
read  them  all  when  she  got  to  England. 

On  Friday  morning  Maria  seemed  happy 
as  a  bird.  Our  last  hours  with  her  were 
affecting.  She  had  by  her  gentleness  and 
truthfulness  greatly  attached  all  her  friends 
to  her.  We  felt  that  we  were  parting  with 
her  for  years — perhaps  forever — or  until  we 
should  meet  beyond  the  shores  of  time.  The 
ship  was  to  sail  at  noon.  As  we  talked  to 
her  about  meeting  her  grandfather  and 
grandmother,  and  of  seeing  Old  England 
again,  her  face  was  radiant  wTith  excitement 
and  smiles.  Her  heart  was  full  of  it,  so  full 
that  it  was  painful  to  divert  her  thoughts  to 
other  subjects.  She  had  her  bonnet  on  at 
ten,  and  the  hour  from  ten  to  eleven  was  a 
long  one. 

A  few  moments  before  we  started  for  the 
ship,  the  family  and  a  large  number  of  Ma- 
ria's friends  gathered  in  the  parlour,  and  we 
opened  the  Bible,  and  read  from  Psalm  xci. 
about  that  God  who  is  our  refuge,  our  fort- 
ress, and  our  habitation,  so  that  no  evil  will 
befall  us ;  who  will  give  his  angels  charge 
over  us  to  keep  us  in  all  our  ways,  even  upon* 

13 


146 


MARIA  CHEESEMAN;  OR, 


the  mighty  deep.  And  we  also  read  from 
Psalm  cvii.  of  Him  who  commandeth  and 
raiseth  the  stormy  winds,  which  lifteth  up 
the  waves  thereof — who  maketh  a  storm  a 
calm,  so  that  the  waves  thereof  are  still,  and 
who  also  setteth  the  poor  on  high  from  afflic- 
tion. We  then  kneeled  in  prayer,  and  com- 
mitted Maria  to  the  safe-keeping  of  that  God 
whose  protecting  hand  had  shielded  her 
childhood  amid  the  depravities  and  dangers 
of  this  great  city.  We  prayed  for  her  aged 
grandparents,  and  for  a  joyous  meeting  with 
them,  and  especially  that  the  Saviour  would 
make  her  one  of  the  lambs  of  his  flock. 
There  were  present  the  friend  who  had  first 
rescued  her  from  the  streets ;  the  lady  who 
had  visited  her  in  the  wretched  garret  and 
taken  her  to  Sunday-school;  and  many 
friends  of  the  family,  too,  with  whom  she 
was  staying.  All  felt  that  she  was  a  child 
of  God's  special  providence,  and  that  He 
would  care  for  her  still. 

The  time  had  now  come  to  leave  for  the 
ship,  and  the  carriage  was  waiting.  Maria 

was  to  go  with  Mr.  C  and  another  person. 

Miss  M  did  not  intend  to  go.  Maria  then 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


147 


bade  each  person  farewell,  except  Miss  M  , 

who  had  gone  into  the  hall.    When  Maria 

came  to  Miss  M  ,  she  put  her  arms  around 

her,  and  burst  into  tears,  saying,  "  Oh,  I  wish 
you  would  go  down  with  me."    The  appeal 

could  not  be  resisted,  and  Miss  M  ,  with 

another  lady,  and  the  two  gentlemen,  ac- 
companied her  to  the  ship,  lying  off  Peck 
Slip.  As  they  were  leaving  the  house,  one 
of  the  party  asked  Maria  if  there  was  any 
one  place  she  would  like  to  see  before  leav- 
ing Is  ew  York.  She  thought  for  a  moment, 
and  said, 

"I  was  thinking  I  would  like  once  more 
to  see  the  old  church.'' 

"You  shall  see  it,  by  all  means,"  said  her 

friend,  "  and  the  very  spot  where  Mr.  C  

found  you  on  New  Year's  morning." 

The  driver  was  directed  to  go  through 
Park  Row,  and  down  Beekman  Street,  to 
the  dock.  As  she  passed  that  venerable 
church,  she  looked  out  of  the  window  and 
took  her  farewell  of  it. 

How  many  weary  days,  months,  and  even 
years,  had  she  passed  it  in  her  toil !  Yet  it 
was  a  Beth-el  to  her.    She  w^as  on  this  very 


148 


MARIA  CHEESEMAN;  OR, 


spot  when  the  first  faint  ray  of  hope  dawned 
on  her  dark  path.  On  this  corner  of  the 
streets  she  had  offered  many  a  feeble  prayer 
while  devout  worshippers  within  listened  to 
the  voice  of  earnest  eloquence.  Both,  we 
trust,  were  heard  in  heaven  ! 

The  two  ladies  and  Mr.  C  were  to  go 

down  to  the  Hook  on  board  the  vessel  with 
Maria.  She  seemed  most  to  feel  the  reality 
of  parting  when  she  came  on  board  the  ship, 
and  went  into  the  little  dark  cabin  and 
smaller  state-room.  As  the  lady  began  to 
take  out  some  necessary  things  from  her 
trunk  and  to  put  them  into  her  state-room, 
the  tears  were  filling  her  eyes ;  but  she  re- 
pressed them.  She  now  began  to  feel  that 
she  was  really  going,  and  going  alone.  But 
she  was  not  to  go  quite  alone.    Mr.  and  Mrs. 

P  ,  from  Virginia,  were  also  passengers. 

Mrs.  P— —  was  a  young  married  lady.  Maria 
was  introduced  to  her,  and  enough  of  her 
history  was  told  to  awaken  at  once  an  interest 

in  the  child.    Mrs.  P  took  her  on  her 

lap,  and  said,  "We  will  be  nice  friends,  won't 
we  ?"  Her  sympathy  at  once  won  the  child. 
They  were  friends,  and  Maria  seemed  happy 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


149 


again.  A  steamer  towed  the  ship  down  the 
harbour  to  the  Hook. 

Years  before,  she  had  come  up  that  beauti- 
ful bay,  and  with  hope  and  joy  beheld  the 
city.  Now,  with  more  hope  and  joy,  she  was 
bidding  it  farewell.  How  like  a  dream  the 
scenes  of  life  must  have  passed  before  her ! 
— long  years  filled  up  with  sickness,  mourn- 
ing, sorrow,  want,  toil,  and  despair.  But 
they  are  all  passed !  The  tempest  is  over. 
The  dark  rolling  clouds  are  breaking  up. 
The  sunlight  is  streaming  forth  upon  the 
mountains  and  valleys,  all  greener  and  fresher 
for  the  passing  shower,  while  millions  of 
glittering  drops  sparkle  on  every  leaf  and 
blade  of  grass,  and  all  nature  smiles  with 
seeming  gratitude.  Maria  is  homeward 
bound,  and  she  is  happy. 

"  There  is  a  land,  of  every  land  the  pride, 
Beloved  by  heaven  o'er  all  the  world  beside. 

'  <  There  is  a  spot  of  earth  supremely  blest — 
A  dearer,  sweeter  spot  than  all  the  rest. 

"Oh!  thou  shalt  find,  howe'er  thy  footsteps  roam, 
That  land  thy  country,  and  that  spot  thy  home." 
13* 


150 


MARIA  CHEESEMAN;  OR, 


Captain  W          must  now  become  the 

biographer.  He  says :  "  The  passage  was  long 
and  severe.  We  were  over  forty-five  days 
out,  and  arrived  in  the  latter  part  of  Febru- 
ary. I  had  a  good  opportunity  of  seeing 
Maria.  She  was  cheerful,  gentle,  and  af- 
fectionate, and  her  manners  w^ere  remark- 
ably good  for  a  child  of  her  opportunities. 
I  never  saw  any  thing  wrong  in  the  child 
during  the  whole  passage.  When  we  ar- 
rived at  Gravesend,  Maria  and  myself  left 
the  ship,  and  went  up  to  London  by  railroad. 
And  after  I  had  finished  my  Custom-house 
business,  and  we  had  dined,  (for  you  know 
we  sailors  don't  live  without  eating,)  we 
started,  about  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon, 
on  the  South-eastern  Railway,  for  Sellinge, 
in  Kent.  We  found  that  we  could  not  get 
within  nine  miles  of  Sellinge,  that  night. 

When  we  arrived  at  Ashford,  I  procured  a 
private  conveyance  to  take  us  to  Mr.  Cheese- 
man's.  It  was  dark  and  cold,  and  Maria 
said  little.  As  we  drove  on,  we  made  in- 
quiries for  Mr.  Cheeseman's  house;  and 
when,  as  I  supposed,  we  were  near  to  the 
house,  I  asked  Maria  if  she  would  know  the 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


151 


farm.  She  said  she  thought  she  could  re- 
member it;  that  it  was  a  large  square  house, 
with  a  garden  around  it.  We  now  ex- 
amined every  house  as  we  passed  it,  till,  at 
last,  Maria  cried  out,  'There  it  is!  that's 
it!' 

"  We  got  out  of  the  carriage  and  went  into 
a  large  front  yard,  and  found  a  man  there 
with  a  lantern,  who  told  us  it  was  Mr. 
Cheeseman's  house.  We  went  in  at  a  side 
door,  which  opened  into  an  entry  leading 
to  a  front  room.  And  as  we  opened  it, 
an  elderly  woman,  tall  and  thin,  but  very 
active,  was  passing  through  the  entry,  with 
a  light  in  her  hand.  Maria  sprang  forward, 
crying, 

"  '  Oh,  grandmother !' 

"And  the  old  lady  received  her  in  her 
arms,  and  exclaimed, 

"  '  Why,  Maria,  my  dear  child,  is  it  you?' 

"  In  a  moment,  they  passed  from  the  entry 
into  a  front  room,  and  Maria  rushed  up  to  a 
stout,  grey-headed  man,  in  small-clothes, 
with  long  stockings  and  knee-buckies,  sitt- 
ing in  an  arm-chair,  saying, 

" 'Oh,  grandfather!' 


152 


MARIA  CHEESEMAN;  OR, 


"And  the  old  man  started  up,  opened  his 
arms,  and  clasped  her  to  his  bosom,  sobbing, 

" '  My  child !   My  child !    My  lost  child !? 

"  And  he  bowed  his  head  upon  her  shoul- 
der, and  they  both  wept  together. 

"  After  the  first  rapture  of  meeting,  Maria 
sat  down  between  the  old  folks ;  and  then 
they  looked  at  her  in  a  sort  of  amazement. 
But  the  old  lady  could  not  keep  her  hands 
off,  but  took  hold  of  Maria,  and,  looking 
earnestly  in  her  face,  said, 

" '  She  is  like  her  mother !  She  is  like  her  P 
and  then  there  was  silence." 

Who  can  tell  the  joy  and  sorrow  of  these 
moments  ? 

"Life  has  moments  bright  as  brief, 

When  the  bliss  of  years, 
Pressed  into  one  golden  drop, 

Sparkles  and  exhales  in  tears. 
Such  the  hour — so  passing  sweet — 
When  true  hearts,  long  severed,  meet. 

"Life  has  seasons  when  an  hour 

Lengthens  to  an  age  of  woe ; 
When  the  stream  of  time  sweeps  on 

Silently,  and  dark,  and  slow. 
Such  the  hour — so  dark,  so  lone — 
When  the  loved  are  dead  and  gone." 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


153 


"  After  this  scene  of  meeting  was  fairly 
over,"  continues  the  captain,  "the  old  lady 
began  herself  to  get  us  a  supper,  and  if  I 
had  been  a  prince,  I  could  not  have  been 
treated  better.  She  was  very  smart,  and 
went  about  the  house  like  a  girl  of  fifteen. 
She  put  upon  the  table  every  thing  the 
house  afforded.  After  tea,  we  talked  till 
bed-time,  and  the  burden  of  the  conversa- 
tion was  the  surprising  fact  that  entire 
strangers  should  have  cared  and  laboured 
for  the  deliverance  of  their  grandchild. 
They  could  not  understand  it.    They  were 

profuse  in  their  thanks  to  Mr.  C   and 

Miss  M  ,  Maria's  first  and  latest  friends. 

Their  friendship  for  her  was  a  great  wonder 
to  them,  and  they  seemed  overcome  with 
gratitude.  They  were  working  farmers, 
'and,'  said  the  old  lady,  6 thank  God,  we  are 
very  comfortably  off.  I  do  my  own  work, 
although  I  am  seventy-three  years  old ;  and 
now  I  have  Maria  to  help  me,  we  shall  get 
along  very  nicely.  I  can  teach  her  as  I 
used  to,  and  she  will  stay  with  us,  and  be 
a  comfort  in  our  old  age.' 

"  When  bed-time  came,  Maria,  after  kissing 


154 


MARIA  CHEESEMAN;  OR, 


her  grandfather  good-night,  went  up  stairs 
with  Mrs.  Cheeseman.  It  was  the  room 
which,  five  or  six  years  before,  she  oc- 
cupied." 

Is  it  too  much  to  suppose  that  the}7 
kneeled  together  again  at  the  foot  of  that 
little  bed,  and  once  more  prayed  to  the  God 
of  the  fatherless,  who  had  never  forsaken  the 
little  pilgrim  ?  And  how  sincere  must  have 
been  the  praise  and  gratitude  arising  from 
those  two  hearts — the  aged  and  the  young  ! 
On  this  very  spot,  years  before,  the  one  had 
taught  the  other  to  lisp  the  words  of  prayer, 
— the  same  prayer  which  a  thousand  times 
in  after  years,  in  sorrow  and  sickness,  in  the 
cellar  and  garret,  in  the  hospital  and  in  the 
streets — had  gone  up  from  her  young  and 
burdened  heart  to  her  Saviour  and  her  God, 
and  had  been  heard  and  answered  in  heaven, 
his  holy  dwelling-place. 

But  we  must  leave  the  little  candy-girl  to- 
night, and  let  her  go  to  sleep,  after  the  good 
old  grandmother  embraces  her  tenderly  and 
kisses  her  good-night. 

We  may  be  sure  that  our  returned  wan- 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


155 


derer  was  up  in  good  season  the  next  morn- 
ing, as  the  first  rays  of  the  sun  darted  cheer- 
fully into  her  bed-room.  And  her  heart  must 
have  throbbed  with  emotion  as  she  opened 
her  window  for  the  fresh  morning  air,  and 
looked  out  upon  those  familiar  olcL  trees 
overhanging  the  street — upon  the  houses  in 
the  distance — upon  old  Barrow  Hill,  bathed 
in  the  morning  sunlight — upon  the  meadows 
where  the  green  grass  was  just  ready  to 
spring  up,  with  that  quiet  little  river  run- 
ning through  them,  its  glittering  surface  un- 
broken except  where  the  budding  wTillows 
drooped  lovingly  on  it. 

How  familiar  each  object,  and  yet  how 
strange !  How  the  whole  scene  calls  back 
other  days  !  How  like  an  old  friend  every 
object  appears,  and  seems  to  welcome  her 
return!  "It  is  my  home!  my  own  dear 
home!"  her  heart  whispers. 

Captain  W   says  that,  after  break- 
fast, the  old  lady  sat  down  and  talked  with 
him  about  Maria,  and  told  him  that  they 
often  heard  from  her  and  her  mother  before 
her  mother's  death,  but  that  since  then  they 
had  lost  all  trace  of  her ;  that  they  wished 


156 


MARIA  CHEESEMAN;  OR, 


to  have  her  return  to  England,  and  they  em- 
ployed a  friend  of  theirs  to  look  her  up,  but 
they  never  could  find  her  or  hear  of  her, 
and  that  at  last  they  gave  her  up  as  dead 
.  or  lost. 

"  6  And  now,'  said  the  old  lady,  'we  shall 
be  happy.  Maria  can  live  with  us  now  we 
are  getting  old.  Maria's  mother  was  not 
my  own  daughter :  she  was  my  step-daughter; 
but  I  have  loved  her  as  much  as  if  she  were 
my  own  child.  I  have  no  children  of  my  own, 
but  I  have  made  Mr.  Cheeseman's  children 
mine,  and  I  have  tried  to  be  a  good  mother 
to  them.' 

"  When  Mrs.  Cheeseman  and  Maria  went 
out  to  clear  away  the  breakfast  things,  I 
took  occasion  to  say — 

" '  Mr.  Cheeseman,  I  have  got  some  money 
for  you/ 

" '  Money  for  me !  What  does  that 
mean  ?' 

u  '  Why,  sir,  you  sent  out  twenty-five 
pounds  to  fit  out  Maria  for  home  and  to  pay 
her  passage,  and  her  friends  in  New  York 
have,  after  paying  all  her  expenses,  sent 
back  by  me  twenty-eight  dollars,  which  they 


THE  CANDY-GIRL. 


157 


directed  me  to  pay  to  you,  and  here  it  is  in 
American  gold." 

A  long  parley  ensued,  and  the  old  man  pro- 
posed several  ways  of  disposing  of  the  money 
which  he  absolutely  refused  to  keep.  It  was 
at  length  determined  that  it  should  be  sent 
back  to  New  York,  to  be  deposited  with 
Miss  M  ,  Maria's  early  friend,  for  bene- 
volent purposes.  This  was  done,  and  the 
amount  was  divided  between  the  "Home'7 
and  the  two  Sunday-schools  in  which  the 
poor  child  had  received  shelter  and  instruc- 
tion. 

And  here  we  leave  the  subject  of  our 
narrative.  By  the  good  hand  of  God  upon 
her,  she  has  been  preserved  in  all  her  wan- 
derings, and  returned  in  safety  to  her  rela- 
tives and  a  comfortable  and  peaceful  home, 
where  we  trust  she  will  devote  herself— body, 
soul  and  spirit — to  the  service  of  Him  who 
has  been  her  helper  and  deliverer. 

The  history  of  her  childhood  is  a  beautiful 
and  impressive  illustration  of  the  guiding 
and  protecting  providence  of  God,  and  a 
most  emphatic  testimony  to  the  value  of 
those  institutions  of  benevolence  which  af- 

14 


158 


MARIA  CHEESEMAN. 


ford  sympathy  to  the  suffering,  protection 
to  the  friendless,  and  instruction  to  the 
ignorant. 

May  they  be  multiplied  a  hundred-fold, 
and  never  lack  the  means  of  accomplishing 
their  beneficent  ends ! 


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4 


